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Down the concrete steps.  I would sit in the outside kitchen, in a corner, on a wooden stool. And you standing in front of a hot stove, stirring your pot. You would share your stories of growing up, without a mother, who died early  in your life. Leaving you like a mother  to your brothers and sisters. But these stories were told in  a matter of fact mood. That was how it was. There was neither anger nor regret intoned.

how lucky am i

to be privy to your life -

now you too have left

© gillena cox

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  Haibun Monday 5-25-26: Remembrance

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