Steven's Haiku
This poem is not about Diabetes; Steven was killed by a hit-run driver years ago. The connection is that apparently the stress triggered my Type 1 Diabetes. This poem began in my dreams around the anniversary of his January death.
Steven's Haiku
Hostess womb: my son,
born on summer's equinox.
A life of searching.
Introspective, he
wore black and loved the Cloisters.
Yet he danced all night.
He died in winter.
His friends mourning: no answers.
A year with no spring.
Trudy
Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Sohair Abdel-Rahman on
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But his fresh scent still here
fill my gardens of memory
he keeps telling me:
scent never dies
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