shots of my mother,
found upstairs in an old book,
pressed like a red rose.
---
many tried to copy
the pout, the breasts, the allure
none chose the despair
---
things done and not done
twists and turns and trails of smoke
how things might have been
---
It’s done – the deed, oh!
Now she tries to protect you,
"Jack, Jack… I’m waiting."
---
unbeknown to her
she would star in a dark tale
sadly her last role
