On Visiting My Mother’s House after Her Death

Oh, queen of neatness, you have made a mess
Of all these cupboards, cabinets, and drawers; 
The rooms and scenes you used to prepossess
About, and that you still considered yours 
Before you slipped from this world to the next.
Now mugs mix up with glasses, post-its strew
The halls and walls, and all the rooms are vexed
With obsolete ephemera and spew.
So life, unraveling, unravels all
It touches, with no malice of intent:
Casually, ancient strictures fall
Around a straggler’s haphazard descent.
And yet, untouched, your spotless spirit flies
Past order, past disorder, to the skies.








Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s