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From Castle to Cave, Grieving

She hunts for things, her things,
the stuff that filled her house,
therefore her days,
until now, when she and Dad
are cramped in a small apartment
with no yard, no cubby holes to fill,
no bags of leftover yarn to crochet
into afghans like carefree crayon rainbows.
I call to sympathize - I understand
her need for things, a horde of
creative trinkets that we must have
to make us whole.
She complains quietly, knowing that
we children were only thinking
of our parent's best, knowing that
I keep all secrets cold.
Sometimes when I hang up,
I go through all my things,
to purge
and purge
and purge.

2 Mar 09

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This really strikes home with me Isabelle.  I lost my mother to cancer 16 years ago and soon after had to move my grandmother to an assisted living home.  She used to knit all the time, but never did after she moved there.  This is a good poem, really good.  
 — PaulS

Thank you for the kind words, Paul.  It's hard to watch but I have strong parents.  I'm sorry about your mother and grandmother.
 — Isabelle5

excellent and melancholy.  
 — Azzizz

Thanks, Azzizz, and welcome.  
 — Isabelle5

Very moving Isabelle and poignant.

Line 15-16 sounds beautiful but not sure I know what it means?

I love the last 5 lines. Beautiful and true.
 — smugzy

15-16; we had to move our parents to Ohio, to be close to my sister, a retired RN.

I keep secrets, they begin hot and juicy, they grow old and cold with me, I do not share them.
 — Isabelle5

excellent poem
 — rivergood