Published in Creative Talents Unleashed

The Ticking of Winter’s Clock

My mother died in Winter.

My mother far away.

Spring was to rise in only a few weeks.

It was the fourth of March.

Brown grass and leafless trees

were in endless array outside.

I could hear

the ticking of the clock

as I waited

for the phone to ring.

I have my father,

I told myself.

My father died in Winter.

My father far away.

It was the seventh of March

and again, the green was still to come.

And again,

I could hear 

the ticking of the clock

as I waited

for the phone to ring.

Then, I was alone.

© Copyright, Linda Imbler, All Rights Reserved