The need to recall the journey
Is her gift to her children?
They are the perfect journalists
To inscribe her tombstone
Outside my bedroom window
I see them walking the path to my door
Who understands the logic?
That they look so much like me
Meanwhile what a lousy deal
They will also in heart my life
This heat reminds me of a certain freedom
Is hell the detour to heaven?
Until our bones prevent us
From dodging an eternal life
I wonder if she even spoke to God?
The bird that sits in the tree outside my window
A thousand rivers, collided and changed direction
Within my chest
I realise there is much more journey to be done