David Gairdner - First Anniversary of my Mother's Passing (04/04/25)

I call you, Mum, to remember the dead.

You change the topic.

I burn candles, while you blanket infernos.

Fire cracks your coffee cup, melts the silverware.

Daffodils burst into flame; their cinders dim your stars.

My two fingers snuff the candle wick.

I sense a sting and fall asleep again.

________________________________

Does today pierce or cleave?

Or is it just like all the other days?

Is this feeling serrated?

_________________________________

I ask a minute to remember.

You ask a second to forget.

_________________________________

I called Mum, around 8 p.m.

I call, as her farm is four hours away.

All day, she gathered cardboard and fallen branches, making a pile.

I don’t know what she saw in the smoke, or how it must have felt.

But I’m sure my words could help—if printed and set on fire.