Second Place - 2016 ESME Writing Showcase Poetry Awards
Jennifer Marie
At two you cuddle on his bare tan breast:
He talks and rocks himself, then you, to sleep.
Lion and lamb slumber in an arm built nest,
Sweet pea breathing, dream of a rainbow’s leap.
Your memory scatters what it retains:
He held your hand with grease stained fingernails;
He played with your toys, made paper airplanes;
He died before you wore your first pigtails.
Crystal snow globe illusions shatter with death:
Our nativity broken, we tumbled from our loft,
Became fragile fragments with ashen breath.
I spoke; you took your listening ears off.
Silence simmers, daughter, within your sighs;
Jennifer Marie you have his green eyes.