Mother, Don’t Start Weeping Now
I hang on to the experience of the strange light
shining through the fog
and when the ice melts
I will find you in the vegetable garden
watching tomatoes grow.
You seem to enjoy walls built by silence
You seem to think that unicorns sleep
behind the moon
While I ponder on the things you didn’t teach me
I come across a path to where I used to be –
access a gurgling fountain spring
move through words, through time
through space -- through the majesty
and mystery of God.
Since yesterday becomes tomorrow soon enough
and since today is nothing more than a dream
Mother, stop crying,
Your time is gone and I am listening
to the language of my dreams
I know nothing of the new magnetic fog
the length of what is blue the weight of what is yellow.
Linda Meg Frith is a retired Social Worker and long time member of Green River Writers. She credits them with most of her growth and development as a poet. She has published poetry in eMerge, River and South Review, Rainy Weather Days, Women Who Write, and the Dallas Rainbow NOW newsletter. Linda Meg lives with her Chihuahua in Louisville, KY.
Amethyst Review 