When your grandmother
decided for care and comfort
and laid a string of pearls
across an ocean
it's open depths
yawning the unknown
a depth you could not follow
So you said your prayers
beneath cerulean heavens
and bribed the Norse god of independence
to gather the shards
of your broken soul
After a while,
you stopped seeking her
behind half-closed doors
beyond dimly lit corridors
where patterns in the rug
became the songs of mystics
Then you implored
the enchanted air
to carry the hymns of loss
so that her ears would know
the weighty sound
of your sunken grief
and still how you miss
the image of her face
sweetly carved
by the haunting wind
upon the rocks
About the Creator
Lana Broussard
Lana Broussard writes primarily under the pen name, L.T. Garvin. She writes fiction, poetry, essays, and humor. She is the author of Confessions of a 4th Grade Athlete, Animals Galore, The Snjords, and Dancing with the Sandman.
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