This air is flooded with her. I am a boy again, and my mother
and I lie on wet grass, laughing. She startles, turns to
marigolds at my side, saying beautiful, and I can see the red
there is in them.
When she would fall into her thoughts, we'd look for what
distracted her from us.
My mother's gone again as suddenly as ever and, seven months
after the funeral, I go dancing. I am becoming grateful.
Breathing, thinking, marigolds.
Forrest Hamer's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Grace by Forrest Hamer )
- Gripes of. Freedom, Nalini Chaturvedi
- Jesus Of Nazareth, Naveed Khalid
- Keebored Problems, Phil Soar
- Antiques, Naveed Khalid
- Romance II, Naveed Khalid
- azoneofpoetryaartisphoenixnow, Nyein Way
- Dungeon, Naveed Khalid
- Rosicrucianism, Naveed Khalid
- Harvest Moon I, Naveed Khalid
- Elikal, dr.k.g.balakrishnan kandangath