Poetry: Vanilla Eulogy by Thomas Zimmerman
Vanilla Eulogy
I couldn’t write about them till they died.
Dad went so quickly, cancer eating years.
And Mom stayed way too long: dementia blacked
the windows of her soul. There were no deathbed
reconciliations. We had lived
and worn our conflicts and our contradictions
out. I love them but don’t miss them. They
have stayed, at least a version of them I
can swallow and digest. They made me, fed me,
taught me. I can see their faces in
my own, a pentimento glowing through
the grainy canvas of my face, old ghosts
that haunt my attic and my basement,
and my poems, footnotes to my life
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