Mary’s Birth

Mary’s laughter echoes like a cry
of final tight farewells to empty walls.
Memories break the surface with a sigh;
remembrance pangs in heavy hollow tolls.
For seventy years, like magnets bound by force
of opposite attraction, sisters always knew
the other’s tugging presence in her course,
deep traditions mending them like glue.
Her empty chair, the gathering’s gaping hole,
the fading mark of her unique impress,
unbroken silence, ringing toll on toll,
but sorrow clings to hope in our distress.
We will not find her here, this empty room,
this hollow world as empty as a womb.

Aunt Mary, August 22, 1935-January 16, 2015

About lettersfromheartscontent

Mother of six, homeschool teacher, tutor with Classical Conversations, wife to a forester and educator. I tend a perennial garden with a riot of blossoms, ride my bicycle in and out of the watershed, play ocarina and a boom-chick accompaniment when my kids feel like playing contradance music. I love being home, but I love an open road and adventure, too. Classical Conversations' Writers Circle carries my article on some aspect of classical education once a month.
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