by Darlene Zagata

With your birthday
approaching soon
you're in my thoughts
a little more these days.

I can still smell your perfume
lingering in the living room
circling your favorite chair
like a fence of remembrance.

I can see your red sweater,
the one you always liked to wear
flashing like a traffic light
as you wheeled yourself into the kitchen
for our usual coffee and debate.

And when someone came to visit
how you smiled and called them "Honey"
then rolled your eyes and criticized
as they walked out the door.

I always laughed
at your sincerity.

The End

The sun was shining,
a large topaz draped in denim.
Then thunder cracked, a horrible sound
like the stars being flogged into submission.

In a blink the sky was ebony,
power temporarily out.
I heard a sound like someone
pounding fiercely on my keyboard.

I looked out to see jawbreakers from heaven,
icy and dirt covered, littering the roof.
My youngest son ran into the room asking
"Mom, is it the end of the world?" remembering
movies he had seen where huge hailstones
had fallen depicting a sign of the end.

"Of course not," I said, "It's just a thunderstorm."
As the power came back on and the sun returned
I found myself thinking about the end, the beginning
and those of us filling up the time in between.

©2000 by Darlene Zagata

Darlene Zagata is a freelance writer and poet. Her work has appeared in several publications, including Ascent, Spirithunter, Some Words, Verse Libre, Reading Divas, Lingerings, Dayspring Contemporary Christian Poetry, and forthcoming in All Things Girl and The Writer's Hood. She is the editor of the poetry ezine Thought Fragments.

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