She died on a Tuesday,
Ninety-one and some,
A Gemini by sun sign.
(First reflections upon hearing):
Hers was a life of little deaths.
Wanting for God to take her
in her sleep,
for the last twenty years or so,
until there was only vague attention
in that prayer.
Loss of life
was a life long prominent theme.
There was composure of aloneness.
She had a singular trust.
Her involuntary poor mouthing
was more prominent
than her drone of a repeated cliché.
She had three sons
that brought her little relief.
She should have been a nun,
for she loved mass and prayer,
longed for religious memories
to embrace her daily.
A duplicitous mother
through our rearing years.
“Mary? Ed’s dead,” (her husband)
was her stunner.
For she had no real recovery
from then on.
It was just another abandonment
in its deliverance.
She had an opinion on everything
almost as public gossip.
Fret and worry were
her constant interior reclaims.
She had feeble attempts at control
as if it were love.
Claimed that she new
but did not really know.
Ultimately she was very private
and gave evidence
of being secretly fearful
yet impactful
and dutiful towards causes.
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