Love (Terza Rima)

I broke my mother’s vase the other day I broke it when I ran around the room Was having fun, I only meant to play And made a helicopter from the broom. It flew up high above the ceiling fan And broke the vase that was my grandpa’s tomb And when it smashed the pot, I feared and ran, For surely they’d require one more; I thought An urn'll be mine- I won’t become a man For though she loved me, though she had big heart, She warned me many times when I came close; I fled the fate that would be mine if caught: My brother said the burn was worst than toasts’. I hid in bushes that were to be home And heard the call that made me wish for ghosts. Their spookiness to her is magma – loam: The horror turned for she is so much worse. I walked to her and said, “shalom, shalom” Desiring peace instead of the stalled hearse That hid behind the belt’s descending fall And told of things to come that were adverse; Tomorrow’s pain; lessons written in scrawl. I stood confused: within her eyes were tears As that of lion late on her cubs' squall. Just then the walls that stood for all these years Fell down and I, I understood her way And grew; she then continued unawares That deep within was joy and not dismay. Copyright © 2010 Leslie Alexis