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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
refrigerators,
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