Annual Poetry Contest
By Carol Ten Hoopen Sorrento, FL
2002 Contest: Honorable Mention Place
"She's gone," hushed the voice.
"She died in her sleep, it's a blessing."
"She's at peace."
I return to the home of my childhood.
There are things which must be done.
My mother needs me yet.
Afterward, I seek solitude, solace;
Away from the doers of good,
The mouthers of platitudes.
I amble outside the empty house
No longer a home.
I find myself in her garden.
I kneel down. I claw the earth.
The weeds tear free.
Clumps of soil fly as I tug, as I yank.
I decide, "Thus will I go."
Not as my mother, slipping away.
Rather as a weed, fighting to remain.