On Letting Go

May 29, 2011
By
Poisonous blue lines
invade frail trembling hands
but my mother holds on
to fingers limp and lifeless
to the woman who created her
to the woman who taught her to live
after he died
To the woman who still radiated beauty
through vacant eyes
The once engaging eyes,
that exuded brilliant vivacity
were now glazed over and inert
A salted crystalline tear
escapes from blinking lashes
but my mother holds on
to someone who is already gone
No longer warm to the touch
Intertwined fingers
Slipping slowly
It is time
To let go





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