After my mom died I wrote this poem.

Mamma, mamma, don't cry,

Lucky for us, we've been born again,

From rich moist clay and strewn love

Each sand particle together mixed,

Sweet waltzes of  times gone-by,

dancing with vulnerable glass quarried limbs,

blind mocking eyes cold as stone,

mamma, mamma, don't cry,

so harried our beginnings and our end,

with so much desire and in quiet desperation,

I cut your jade wrists than mine,

My bereavement pain has not been easy,

Twice no one dies, I wait in unhope,

A slip of the hand,

And we're together again!~

For my parents who died many years ago.

Blanket of Forever

Their words like air blown kisses

Intractable and illuminating,

Lingering in the summer evening

Daring me to look into the light

And wish...tiny black and white

photographic jeweled stars of ruse

Along with Chunks of coal, woven into

My family's Blanket of Forever.

I sculpted this out of clay after mom died.

Writing, sculpting clay, and poetry are all

healing for our soul and for our future.