When you died,
  the Earth continued its
orbits like clockwork,
         as if trying a little too hard
   to show not much
had really changed.

We carried on too, co-conspirators
   in the biggest lie.
   We kept busy.

In disbelief I light this candle to you,
     like those which flickered yellow
  and mysterious atop small Bronx
and in slow motion place
   with burning fingers
   on your gravestone,
           this pledge,
this small stone red-hot
        from my heart.

for my Mother
May 2, 1990



All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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