Angele Toomey Poetry

I might be mulling over the loss of my mobile/cell phone. I might be thinking about the chapters of life that are now decades closed. It could be any trigger that ignited the spark of inspiration that led to the following….

A Winter farewell
Winter's bare branches
in different times, 
might become home to leaves
that allow rich fruit to flourish.
But those are future possibilities
I think not of.
For now all I see is the bareness
in a moment of deep mourning
for what used to be,
before it was lost:
to time,
to that abyss of memory now too vague
to be anything more than the fleeting sense of pain,
and a name almost fully forgotten.