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Poem About the Loss of Asking After Death

I love to write my thoughts in rhymes, I even write free verse sometimes. I alway hope to hit one's heart when someone reads my small A art

My Aunt Greet Meijst

My Aunt Greet Meijst

My Aunt Greet

She was there all my life,
but only after she passed away,
could I look beyond her eyes
and have I found her soul
in all the things she left behind.

With respect I touched her life
in every piece of furniture.
Remembering her, pouring tea and
reaching down her buffet
for chocolate sweets.

Her house was build in nineteen thirty
and never changed since then.
She only filled it with her being
and I became silent.

Roaming through her house,
opening a cupboard at the attic and
finding her mother's damask table linen,
neatly bonded with colored ribbons.
Never used.

Food stamps from World War Two,
little notes, penned down
in childish handwriting.
Then I cried inside for the loss of asking,
but looking into her eyes I know
it is alright.

November 2005

Damask Table Linen 1917

Damask Table Linen 1917

Living room of my aunt Greet

Living room of my aunt Greet

© 2020 Titia Geertman

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