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(29 October 1924 – 28 July 1998 / Lvov)

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Lament

To the memory of my mother

And now she has over her head brown clouds of roots
a slim lily of salt on the temples beads of sand
while she sails on the bottom of a boat through foaming nebulas

a mile beyond us where the river turns
visible-invisible as the light on a wave
truly she isn't different-abandoned like all of us

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003
Edited: Friday, May 11, 2012


Read poems about / on: memory, river, mother, light

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