The Sounds of Memory
It’s the sounds that send me back.
Strings of doorway beads colliding
that made Mom’s room off limits
most of the time
and felt like walking into a magical realm
when entrance was permitted.
Drops of rain on the window
that meant hot cocoa and reading bedtime stories—
even at three in the afternoon
and even when we reversed roles.
An oven timer
that signaled family dinners
mandatory then
but that will never be possible again.
The deep dong of a bell tower
that announced the end of her funeral
as if telling the world to start crying
without telling me when to stop.
Each sound sends me back in time,
and I get to forget for a moment
that the present is short one important person.
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