My wonderful mother in law, Betty, passed away this past Monday. I was, without a doubt, one lucky son in law, considering most son in laws just put up with their mother in laws... I just simply loved mine. She was fun, she was often brassy, sassy and spoke her mind in what can only be described as POETIC language. She has paintings all over her house that she made, which are very good, great in fact. Mary and I have paintings in our house, that didn't pass the test, to hang in her house... all of which I hung with joy. What is better than free wonderful art? Nothing I can think of...
Poetry was something that she and I shared. We both love to write it. And, while going through her belongings today in her house, I found poetry she had written all over the house, just about in every drawer I opened. Every box. It was typed, handwritten.. just everywhere. It is going to be a job transposing it all to the digital age... and I will eventually do that. However...
Today while going through her kitchen drawer, I found a letter I had mailed her back in 2003, when she lived in Reston, Virginia... and enclosed was of a poem I had written. She had moved from Reston to San Antonio, and my little poem was still in her kitchen drawer. I felt my chest grow from both pride and tears as I read the poem I had written to her ...and she felt enough of an attachment she kept it in her kitchen drawer. So strictly, in her memory, (later, I am going to post some of her wonderful poetry here on my blog fer shure') here is the poem Betty kept in her kitchen:
Supercollider (Big Bang) by klw
Tiny pieces of god continue to fall from the sky
no longer in shock, no longer in awe
The great exhale.
The dark became light, the light became dark
and ashen stayed pale
The gut feeling that someone was not watching over your shoulder, became a
Pieces were collected, Choirs sang.
Glue and mortar, nobody could sort through the chunks of the almighty.
Tears welled up in the eyes,
We all kissed our last goodbyes as we stared at
the omnipotent, in three enormous piles.
A child from the back was heard to sigh,
'This must have been what it was like when Elvis died'