PoetryEtc Featured Poet: Liz Kirby
Maternal Blessing
Empty chairs call
through her last breath.
The lost mother orders the mouths
in her cupboard to be quiet.
Gravel paths lead on
through doors and dinner plates.
The lost mother dresses
in satin and organza.
The evening sips
her sorrow and swollen eyes.
The falling dusk regrets
tearing like a razor.
The lost mother so pale
serves up bowls of soot.
