Ann-Marie Spittle

THIS TIME OF YEAR

It happened now
And then
But always here
The day she went
While Daffodils were abundant
And people thought of Easter
Spring had come
New life beginning
But hers had ended
Details kept secret
Had clouded my knowledge
They thought for the better
But dreams tell me otherwise
She talks to me in them
And walks with me in old memories
Shared between mother and daughter
Sunday mornings in pews
Chocolate on a park sitting stone
Mornings spent getting ready
Shoes forgotten
Singing on the way home
Memories
That will last a lifetime

Author’s Note: In remembrance of My Mother, at Easter