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In Mourning

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.