This is a wonderful poem, anyone who is hurting or mourning the death of anyone should read this.
Mama used to come to my house.
This bag, inside, she’d lug…
She’d set it by the door,
And start to give the kids their hugs.
Cancer moved it to the closet –
Stored away for rainy days –
The shadow shocks arrive,
Feeling somewhat sad and dazed.
Maybe I’ll look inside –
Memories of her to be found there?
Or will that make things worse?
Don’t know if I should dare.
I smell her mama smell –
But these are just some robes…..
Deeper, digging, hoping –
I continue to search and probe.
Out comes light and beauty,
My mama’s pretty face –
Hidden down deep inside,
Of a dark corner; it’s own space.
Is this a magic bag?
One like Mary Poppins’?
Will I keep on finding things?
Is that the way these things, they happen?
Nope. This isn’t magic.
No special tricks in here…
God sends me a special message –
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