***Yeah, here's another attempt at poetry. I used to do this all the time, but I've quite fallen off over the years. I know I attempted once on this blog some time ago, though. This was a poem I wrote for my creative writing class at my university.***
"Here lies Lynn Gleason," it says.
It's impersonal, and an injustice to who she was.
Whoever carved the stone doesn't care, though.
All they know is that they're making their mark on the end of her life
and that's all they'll ever need to know.
Her bones lie there, but her soul is somewhere else;
the soul that I referred to as "Mama" for many years.
She left before my life really began--because at sixteen
you never know what you're in for or who you are.
I walked away that day dazed and confused, reminded that beneath
the dirt lies a body I used to hold.
Nowadays she's almost forgotten to me, but
her blood still runs through me and I remember that sometimes and smile.