The worm moon — on such a clear morning, even her robins are visible.
March 10, 2020
Steps
“When she rests in the apple tree —
that’s when we’ll harvest the moon.”
And they took great care with the ladder,
not to
make a sound.
“Son? Do you see her face? Why are you looking down?”
And that is what he remembers,
this day in the burial ground.
(for a friend whose father has passed on)
Recently Banned Literature, July 20, 2011
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces, Recently Banned Literature
Tags: Cemeteries, Death, Departures, Diaries, Journals, Memory, Poems, Poetry, The Worm Moon, Tim Hinshaw
