A poem a day 2.0 - Tamara

The lights are on,

The fire is alight,

Smoke billows out of the chimney,

You are there,

Crockpot in hand,

A chili potluck,

Your food blessed the land.

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The lights are on,

The fire is cold,

Sickly and sad,

but I cry tears no more,

I take your hand which is shriveled and worn,

And put it in mine,

Holding it through the storm.

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The lights are out,

The fire is cold,

A warmth you shared,

Turned to dust and bone,

Ashes to ashes,

And dust to dust,

Cry all the tears in the world if I must.

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Your home is quiet,

No meals to share,

No potlucks or picnics,

No wine and no beer,

Though love still lingers,

In the bed I was gifted,

Tears fall to the mattress as I hug your candles.

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The lights are out,

The fire is gone,

I never knew that an empty house could make me mourn,

Your house stands still,

In the middle of the block,

Your plants start to wither,

and your benches began to drop.

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The lights are on,

The fire is alight,

A new family moves in,

And turns out your light,

The light of your memory,

The light for your family,

The light that will finally help us move on.

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