In Memory of Maryann Mercurio

I do not think I have to tell you, Joey,
how the seasons multiplied, and smothered
your family's final holdouts, hilltops snowy
in the blue-lit backdropp behind your mother's
blazing hair, her slouched and aching shoulders
at rest now at the ending of her story,
how the sunshine trickled down, the boulder
moved away, the flowers whispered 'glory.'

by Leo Yankevich

Comments (1)

loved the poem..much happens at the tomb sotne