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When you died,
the Earth continued its
orbits like clockwork,
as if trying a little too hard
to show not much
had really changed.
We carried on too, co-conspirators
in the biggest lie.
We kept busy.
In disbelief I light this candle to you,
like those which flickered yellow
and mysterious atop a small Bronx
refrigerator,
and in slow motion place
with burning fingers
on your gravestone,
this pledge,
this small stone red-hot
from my heart.
for my Mother
May 2, 1990