When a Tree Falls in Your Memory

Not sure:

new poem:


 My Mother

When a tree falls in your memory, were you there?

The shape of my mother is waiting
Just calmly emptying out of my waiting,
and speaking to herself as the trees are quietly falling.

I do not remember my mother, but I have many broken objects from her.

Mostly I remember a beautiful glass decanter, of red and clear.
As clear as the the red of blood.

e.m. burke 12/19/2018



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