Lost Sanctuary


Just now, God knows why,
I remembered my long dead mother's
telephone number.

This odd recollection
gave cold relaxation
to my tired, snappish mood.

The warm welcome
she offered me,
the assurance of food,

the spare bed,
the familiar disagreements,
they were always available.

Now, this sanctuary,
this feel of childhood arguments,
this place of reconciliation,

is lost.



This poem has been accepted for publication by First Time.

image: poem

97-99

site
copyright





this archive is hosted by arts & ego
© 1978-2024 dylan harris