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"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