Dusk with Stars and Missing the Sun

Silhouette Dusk Sky Stars Purple Shooting Star
I am wearing your clothes today,
Mother, my heart.
Your earthy-tones with purple
hues surround me.
Your textiles embrace me
with their softness as if
they are striving to be your arms.

I have given many of
your clothes away to the worthy:
to the ones who saw you for
what you really were –
a light brighter than most
rooms could handle,
(and so you found solace
in the sun),
and to those in need of a little
softness, too, because I know you
would have done the same.

I have wrapped some shivering
souls in your warmth,
and I have dressed some forgotten
ones in your shimmer and shine
to help make them easier
to find in the dark.

Spring bloomed for your departure
and you flew over my head
in the throws of autumn.
I slept with your plush blanket
as more leaves dropped from
the trees, and from your legacy.
Nothing is permanent.
I wept in your ornaments.

And I kept some of your clothes:
the ones I know you wanted
me to have. You always saw
more colors for me than I did.

You brought me aqua like ethereal
oceans. You brought me peach
and dusty pinks, like roses in May,
kissed by rain and celebrating
with champagne.
You made me brighter, softer,
dusk with stars,
dawn with the moon.

Today I am dressed in half-light,
near Winter, medium
tones of almost, dusted
with powdered berries
kissing your ashes,
wishing they were wine:
the dress you wore
when they took you away,
the purple I put you in
after the nurse showed me
how to clean your body
to honor you and to prepare me
to let you go.
(And the sky still cracked
with my heart).

I brushed your hair
and coated your lips in blush pink.
A life such as you lived deserved
a little more color in the end.

Sometimes at night,
I still wear the grey pajamas
you wore when I held you,
when you took your last breath,
and the aftershock of apparitions
when your spirit still wanted
to breathe, for my wailing grief,
and for my love.

Sometimes it feels like you are
still breathing in me.
I am so thankful I can be
wearing you.

In Loving Memory of
Deborah Renee Reeve
April 30, 1958 ~ April 12, 2018

Copyright © 2018, Sheyorah Aossi

Image credit: used with permission from maxpixel.net.

2 thoughts on “Dusk with Stars and Missing the Sun

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