The Day My Mother Left Must Have Been on Sunday When God was Resting

I remember the cold

of the day.

Not the air,

but inside.

Deep

like a broken photograph.

That was the cold day my

mother left.

I remember still,

cold,

deep

in my heart cracking like

ice

over a frozen pond.

The sea came crashing

down

before

everyone could cross

and she left standing,

alone,

waiting

for the cold day to end

was caught up in

it all.

Alzheimer's,

all crying,

all sadness,

all sorrow, all memories of yesterday,

and all fear of tomorrow.