a simple vow

she sings their love story

long and sweet


her voice – a drone

 whispering a lullaby

until he sleeps


an empty space

she sings of what might have been

in his arms


to comfort the dying

her silent presence chants

all night long


how she honors the sun

trilling a sing-a-long

with the birds


while binding wounds

she utters an ancient mantra

holy balm


how her lips

on the crook of his neck

croon softly


his anger circling

she sings to block out the truth

 her fate


clouds on the way

she hums a broken melody

until the storm passes


taking to her cave

she laments day and night

for what is lost


fist filled with notes

she murmurs a hymn of praise

for poetry


ten teeth missing

she burbles about old days

mouth wide open


©WabiSabi 2013

For the Sunday Whirl 108 – vow, drone, space, chants, sun, binding, crook, circling, broken, cave, fist, mouth.

Word Maven

                                  for VG

Her soft new-mommy cooing
sang babies into the world,
first sounds they  ever heard
a tone poem for a newborn.
Folding tiny hands steeple-like,
showing  how to call on God,
Our Father who art in heaven…
she prayed  a verse for the Creator.
Helping decode ‘Dick and Jane,’
‘The Pokey Little Puppy,’
‘The Five Hundred Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins’
it was word magic.
“Bring a new word to dinner every night,”
supper  was a  grandiose, bellicose, pandemonium,
with lallygagging whenever there was liver,
she cooked  up a word feast.
Lists organized her life,
a to-do list, a birthday list, a shopping list,
a ‘things I’ll never do’ list
  poetry for a housewife.
Her scribbled papers became a lifeline,
tethering scattered memory,
she buried  forgetfulness on a list
titled ‘tomorrow, maybe.’
Now words spill off the page
into the vault of locked -up memories                           
and there is no verse  to comfort,
no song for senility.
©WabiSabi 2012
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