There is no childhood,
I can speak to you about.
There are no memories,
No photographs to view.
These are the veins in the leaf;
These are the decay of the Fall.
There is no can to kick and,
No Generation to defer.
Only these broken limbs,
Only these dense groves.
To hold on to this withered fruit,
That has fallen so long ago.
Our feelings like water over rocks.
There is nothing to give and,
There there is nothing to pass on.
Suffer the weight and,
Bear this legacy.
I can offer no consolation,
No winged angels to sanctify divine names.
For it is standing in stillness,
As this terrible purpose,
Has no where to go.
I spread your memories,
Like ashes on Ravens wings.
You will be buried and,
This heart will suffer the weight.
In memory of Estelle Goldberg (February 29, 1924 - July 29, 2013)
~Michael Salonius, July 29, 2013