Saturday, June 9, 2012

Thelma Reyna

Early Morning
She wasn’t supposed to die across the
sunbeams, flowered night-
gown twisted around crumpled knees, eyes
widely unaware and questioning.

She wasn’t supposed to die while
her coffeepot called, and toast rose
with a gentle click as she
cajoled and roused sleeping children.

She wasn’t supposed to die while
she sang to the tiny terrier licking her ankles,
and her husband ambled to her for their
morning kiss, white coffee mug ready for his brew.

She wasn’t supposed to die like this,
arms around his neck, lips pressed to his ear,
warm breath gearing up for morning talk,
her head tilting back to tell him something monumental.

But she died a lightning death, her
big heart failing, her body falling in an instant to
the sunlit floor, her mouth a circle of pain, her hands
clutching her breast as her children walked in.

No guarantees. There are no guarantees in life, we’ve
been told and retold. Grab love, fight loss, find
joy, hang on, believe, and tell yourself again and again
and again that this day, this day, is irretrievable.

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