by Melanie Claire Blinn Eulberg

Mom wrote haiku
simple scribbles in
tiny notebooks
during stolen
moments of awe

Given the way
her life played out
fraught with hardship
layered with loss
oh, so much smaller
than her dreams
she could have been
scarred by sorrows
resigned to regret

She could have poured
her suffering on paper
in dark strokes
as I often do

she let her mind
run out of doors
to read leaves
and the shadings of roses
marvel at the whir
of hummingbird wings
murmur with doves
inhale the musty
scents of earth

Mom cultivated
uncovering joy
where it hides–
in the unrhymed
flow of being

She arranged it on paper
one breath of syllables
at a time
always with a turn
in the final line
leaving beauty
only beauty


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