Three Minutes in September
(In Memory of Mary E. Taylor)

September has never been really a good year,
the memories etch, sketch, graffiti and tattoo their hearts with fear.
Tears flow incessantly like much needed cascading waterfalls in hell.
Shhh. Listen close, their eyes have a painful story to tell.
Little brown five and three year old thighs
stick to electric blue chaise lounge listening to whys,
to questions that divide the voices to sounds they can never comprehend.
The vibrations twirl, flow, fight, the air to twist and bend,
then fall blindly silent on unknowing little five and three year old ears;
while the melodious harmonies disconcertingly pepper their spines with fear.
Old folk, young people, children, walk, mummer, mumble, stumble in another room.
The air above, heavy, musty, stank suffocating gloom,
stiffening cries slip from forlorn orifices below...
Pinging ponging, bouncing, whispering and hinting responses to their own echoes.
As sadly, sleepy little five and three years old eyes
shed tears emulating blank faces they don't recognize.
September, they remember the artic grief in the air,
it ripped, tore skin, flesh, bones, leaving them bare...
Exposing pulsating little five and three year old shattered hearts
Leaving a million tiny pieces, leaving their world torn apart.
Sobs thunderously open causing syllables to form acid rain,
Drizzling grief and sorrow on confused little five and three year old brains.
They see her hazel eyes dressed in white, dance in the horizon, without saying goodbye,
She is no longer there to brush the blood red tears from the corner of their eyes.
Someone tried to explain that she wouldn't be coming home, anytime soon
This cut little five and three year old feelings so deep, they felt the Earth move
You see, no one could really explain their mother's treason,
Disappearing and dying in the darkness without rhyme or reason.
Leaving them together to navigate the world on their own,
In this barren space they must now call home.
they remember the day eyes wide shut turned from brown to shades of blue
On that melancholy, winter like day when they were forced to say farewell to you..