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Showing posts from August, 2015

Mother’s Pink Carnation - Mag 283

©Shers Gallagher 2015


















I set a pink carnation on Mother’s grave,
but only one 
which will wither in the dry dust 
of California’s unending drought.
Global warming and bad planning
is causing fires in the hinterlands,
in the canyons of dried up lakes and streams.
Carnations were her favourite flower,
her ground now hard and cracked
from lack of rain,
parched and bleached
as I imagine her bones should be,
as her death was 30 years ago 
come this December.
A June bride had finished high school
only to straddle two at the ages of 20 and 21,
respectively,
till the pill caught up
and gave a few years reprieve
before the others came. 
I loved her dearly,
our fragile flower 
with lion heart and beacon soul,
being more like sister than mother
to her eldest born,
my brother and me. 
I live miles and seas away these days
and have not been back till now,
remembering how she whispered once,
her dying breath my parting gift 
to abate all the misery.
I will not be there, she murmured.
Don’t worry then, I’m in your heart
and will foll…