A Place for Everything


How strange and sad to see,
my motherís mind
is slipping through my hands.

As best I can, I pick up
the pieces
and give them back again.

She smiles and puts them
on the table,
or tucks them inside a book.

A place for everything,
she thinks,
and everything in its place.

Later on, a week, a day,
she is surprised
when memories sprout in corners.

It is good to watch them flower,
even when the pictures
on her walls bear strangersí faces.

May 13, 2006












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