"My Grandmother's Ghost"
I looked up
a bright young moon smiled,
self-assured,
full of Spring’s promise.
Under this moon
my Grandmother’s ghost
lay in pieces in my back seat
And warned me,
repeatedly,
about putting dusty books on display
leaning against her vase,
while arrogantly disregarding
the slippery dining room table.
Ignored and abandoned,
their mere display of spines and symbols
tests the limits of their patience.
Eventually they will take her vase
of familial antiquity down . . .
From its hundred-year promise of Spring
the moon’s knowing smile remained,
I then understood that divorce from a family
is almost always
Messy.
May 2021
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©2021,
Michael Smolens