In Mourning

May 1, 2017


All the stars that fracture the sky –  

they look like a splintered mirror 

or pixelated static or 

withered harebell scattered carelessly by god


Is it the night that breaks me 

or is it this sod, riddled with weeds   

when he was four years old and 

would bring me dandelion bouquets? 


the prettiest I could find 

for my pretty mama 


The fate of that tender thing –  

of gathered flowers and 

untrained kisses. 


I can almost see him waddling towards me 

carrying a freshly picked bouquet 

with stems smashed together and  

a giddy smile.  


But there are no more dandelions. 

They’ve faded away

shrunken petals dust the lawn like dying stars. 

All I have left is a crescent moon. 

A sliced, sharp white 

forced to carve itself down 

until it is nothing. 


About the author: Kate is a writer, wife, mom of two pups and a full-time RVer. She has experienced loss and grief. Kate has found healing through her writing.






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