The Riddle Of The Matriarch... - Poem by RIC BASTASA

everything in the room is made neat
you feel what clean is
those cup boards and
not a dust
not a mark of dried water
just perfect

clueless i think of you
but there is a distance that knows
how far roads can be made near
how a house can be
reachable despite the length of the hills
the height of skies

you have know
the stained spot
no one bothers to call it its own name
everyone has that inkling
to clean it by itself
even me
there was never a time
at dawn
and evenings are too visible
and mornings are too preoccupied
and busy

it is like a rock in the middle of the road
cars change directions not to hit it
people who see it
do not have the power to remove it
but all wanted it removed somehow
a pain in the eye

no one dares and it is always there
and it will always be
a bruise on the cheek

even during your death
when you give that last smile of concern
you did not mention
a syllable about it

i know you were so hurt
it is me all those times beside you
and still you never said a word about it....

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 30, 2011

Poem Edited: Friday, May 6, 2011

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