Pages In The Wind Poem by Adrian Antique

Dribbled my fingers on those pieces
Of thin, crispy paper with burnt edges …
They all looked the same.
Rectangular and dirty white, with little traces
Of mommy's smirk and smile, and many faces -
Carried by the wind where her stories came.

And so, almost everything was gone -
In a glimpse one night of July 2021 …
My mother's last breath fading in the air.
What's left were pictures of nearly a century,
A woman's quiet saga from nineteen thirty
And almost everything that will always be there.

She would hold a thick book in her hand
Like the moon queen protecting her magic sand …
So, she flew away and fell in love again and again -
Into places she's never been with her marking band …
Where she brought us all floating into her dream land
Wishing she could keep us all together if only she can.

But all of these is now beyond her strength and sight
For what's left is that murmur of songs in the middles of my night …
Some fearful moments seem to repeat themselves even with the light
And the breezes that should have tamed me pass by with a bite.

So, I stretch my arms as if to catch somethings unseen -
Maybe leaves with photographs of where I have been …
Or even stained pages filled with mom's print and penmanship -
And please … just tiny moments of the two women I loved infinitely deep.