GRIEF Poem: Patchwork Quilt, by Sarah Florence

I don’t remember the sound of your voice anymore,
but I think it was a little raspy.
I have memories of you,
but often wonder if they’re real
or just images stitched together from old photos.

Many of those images stand in stark contrast:
fiery, red lipstick
sterile, white hospital bed.
warm, blue swimming pool
cold, green oxygen tank
long, tan, wool coat
clear tubes overflowing
curly, auburn hair
wrinkled eyelids, twitching.

You deserve so much more than
a patchwork quilt of random memories,
but after all these years,
this quilt is all I have left of you.

And the saddest part of it all is
most often when I think of you,
I remember watching you die
rather than watching you live.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest