September, we sat in the nook on the top floor.
Looked down the beach and muddled colors on a plate.
A brush in the yellow, the red, the grey of the houses up the shore.
See how they get smaller, the farther away you look.
See how the ocean is blue or is it green?
What lies beneath where it is black?
How to remember the splash of a moment ago that will never be again?
How to remember this September in a life that will never be again?
October, we lie looking out a window.
Counting leaves that fall from the Oak.
Remembering the time the tree began.
Remembering the reason the tree began.
Listening to the kids raking and jumping.
The laughing, the coolness of the air.
Surprise from a yellow butterfly in October!
Dancing on the sill.
How did he come to be so lost?
Lost in a place with people who will never be these people again?
November, in the still of the night.
Her last breath, her surrender.
A breath that will never be again.
A stillness that stops the every stare.
A disbelief in the want of a mortal.
No music, no smiles.
No more to remember, no longing for less.
The body to be cared for,
In rest, without life.
What cloth to let it go with?
Who will say it was as a blue as the sky?
As soft as the mist in the air?
Pardoned with skill, her tortured bones now soft.
Layers of guilt, shame, remorse, pain.
Each peeled away with each layer applied.
To the end, to the very deep end.
The kimono hand made,
The kimono worn before.
It, too, laid in wait for the October leaves to fall.