was fond of fixing fancy dishes
for her friends, her girl and boy;
loved her little pond of fishes:
shubunkin hobnobbing with koi.
When three were snatched by a hungry heron,
she hollered, “Gluttonous robber baron!”
Still and all, when life would look
as bleak as a cold, unmoving brook,
she’d play some Scrabble with her daughter,
unscrambling letters, while her ills
came down like hail no docs nor pills
could heal. The cancer-monster caught ’er.
Yet, though the dread malignancy
tried hard to nibble at her glee,

it couldn’t gobble her spunky spirit,
deep-rooted as a redwood bole,
a trait that helped her not to fear it.
She liked the beach, good books, a stroll,
but when the lakes froze? Hope would melt ’em.
When bitter cards came? She re-dealt ’em.
At Charlestown’s shore I viewed in awe
the link uniting girl and ma.
Such cooking teamwork! What I savored
in that cottage those five days
was the warmth of Indian summer rays.
She walked with pain, yet never wavered.
I wonder: will I have such pluck
when kismet’s rapids run amok?

i.m. Phyllis Bagnaschi
(September 20, 1936 - September 20, 2012)



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Mohamed Sarfan's picture

Dear Poeter, Some people, like the wings of a bird, leave fond memories in every human life. The lessons of the journeys of the path of life will never forget the rewarded human beings even if their shadows are not there. My dearest greetings to the friend who poured poetry into a bowl of poetic language memories that captivated the mind in search of the past. Every human being is the one who carries death while walking, running and sleeping in the life he lives. But, lives on as memories. Write More Congratulations

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