Solace

 

It’s a kindness, really

To have a little something of my own

A pen, a pair of glasses

A pipe stand that belonged to my father

A photo of my mother, when she was a girl

Holding a little cat

 

It’s not remembrance

Or nostalgia

Mostly, it’s regret

For what they didn’t have

But should have had

 

A comfort only

That so much pain is gone

Absent from the Earth

Kept in the tears of God

And every now and then

When I press out my own

 

As if to keep them in a scrapbook

A book of scraps

The little bits that are my own

 

C L Couch

 

 

Image by Anne-marie Ridderhof from Pixabay