Auntie Poem by Holly Jamestone

She was so very peacefully still
With her hands gently crossed as she held beads
And her collar clear up to her neck
And her hair perfectly coiffed in a way
That the dear old woman would have never styled her hair

I went to play in the attic because
I didn’t really understand why she wasn’t moving
Nor why she was laying in that metal crate
In our dining room and her skin was the color
Of the pale gray satin material that lined her square bed

The man with the black suit and the white square at his chin
Had black wooden rosary beads that dangled from his pocket
And I secretly wanted to play with the metal cross
That dangled from his beaded necklace but the white square
Told me differently and that I needed to be silent

I knew in the attic would be the toys we had shared
And the old, dusty photo items of the days we had spent
Before her hands were gently crossed
And her collar was clear up to her neck
And her hair was so perfectly combed in a way
That Auntie never would have styled her own hair

(7-20-2013)
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