Sparkling

breath just out of reach
in the lungs
in the soul
her heart was tired
her eyes more so

those lovely fingers
nails thin and yellow
once strung delicate white lights
on every willowy houseplant
claiming the toasted-cream living room

a mechanical bed usurping
the mahogany coffee table
those vertical houseplants
sparkling oxygen
into dying black irises

feathers and leaves usher her
to papa’s homeland
embracing over cobblestones
pattering bustling streets
inhaling baked flour

smiling at
a bouncing soccer ball
little white lights dripping
across canopies
warm bistros and red wine

her breath
whispering
I am home
I am home
I am home

those houseplants
sparkling

Robin's Tree

Robin’s Tree

May you dream of a full, beautiful life…
Tree painted about 2 years ago for Robin

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10 thoughts on “Sparkling

  1. AnnMarie, this poem … is simply sparkling. It’s moving and thought-provoking, filled with longing and sadness, and attempts to comprehend that great “incomprehensible inevitability.” Such perfect “splashes” of color/detail, like Monet, capture this woman (your aunt) and her impeccable life which titters between the here and now, present/past and future, earthly and other-worldly. And that ending, those three perfect words — “I am home,” like the ending of Toby Wolff’s incredible story, “Bullet in the Brain” — arrest, create frison, take the breath away. Beautiful.

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