InvasiveThoughts.com

The world is different now, yet the same.

Though pride wells in the heart as it hadn't before,

Life is full of argument, death a single phrase —

That which was determined, or undetermined, now so remains,

And the best times are when I truly miss her,

The most real times these days.

The world is now very different, and yet it is the same.

The house I have not yet changed,

But now it is an empty house,

Where only memories remain —

And while each painting and figurine is as she placed it,

Her touch no longer remains.

Photo: Nicole Moore

I should have stayed.

(I should have stayed.)

The plastic cardinal's wings

Still spin rapidly in the wind,

The loquat tree still shades the tin,

And the porch-chair still leans slightly in the sun,

But she has gone.

The world is different these days, yet it is the same.

She had plucked some brackets off a bougainvillea

That Last Day for me to see —

There, deep-pink and healthy in her single wilted palm,

But she did not explain,

(She did not explain).

The world is so very different, yet so much the same.

The petals now have fallen

Without her there to tend,

And though the cuckoo clock still goes eternally unnoticed,

Her hurt I now cannot mend.

Perhaps she knew what she was dealt.

She had mentioned her Last Days.

But still the hope and denial coursed —

Yet perhaps they are the same…

Everything is so different now, but for memory

Seem too much the same.

       -February 24, 2006

              Nicole Moore