sayonara mother thirteen years ago back in time

the bittersweet silent story of my life age
fifty and nine automatically rebroadcast 
     in indelible (yet never washed out) beige
indistinguishably linkedin, when counting 
     the last three of seventy somber orbitz, 
     signify torturous custom made cage

whose darkening shades of gray 
housed a weakened Harriet Harris, 
     an ashen corpse lay 
no doubt a grown changeling dust play

a cruel trick, and soul of me mum didst slay, 
so...tis with great difficulty aye write this poem today
cathartic to brush off self denunciation, 
     an albatross that dust way
 
heavily incriminating, ostracizing this mind of mine, 
recurring every year comb May fourth a line 
codifying, delineating, earmarking,  
     and doth likened 
     to elementary school Boyer 

     as in  Henry Kline 
no less painful reflection plus unavoidable, 
     hence this middle aged man lets feelings incline
toward self expression this anniversary 
     revisiting re: deign
 
upon memorializing general up beat
defiance at death of thine late mother, 
     where disease rabidly did eat 
ting her til she expired, 
     this singular married heir 
     set himself a writing fete

wordlessly mouths never expressed greet
unbeknownst reeders gleaning my sentiments heat
ting recollected adieu bid prior, 
     whence she angrily wanted to meet 
that accursed nemesis 
     against healthiness and repeat
  
cherished apothegm, 
     that existence offers no second act 
as she relinquished slipping tenuous weak bract
leave ving ever fainter grip upon cracked
pommel of mortality, an immutable fact
thence black knight denounced, pounced, hijacked

trounced unannounced, vanquished, lacked
motive to rival nixed, extinguished sputtering pact
fast fading joie de vivre unspoken, 
     where death rattle racked 
personal def tone accentuation tracked 
subsequent self castigation, 
     excoriation nearly whacked 

me to Timbuktu rebuking extolling bless
sing experienced from 
     this sole son for thirteen years, aye confess
when the inimitable Harriet Harris 

     devastatingly, grievously, inconsolably, 
     got hexed, issued jilted livingsocial, a less
son learned to late, how maddeningly mess
say yon nick lee infuriated, not accepting press

sing ill fate, nor countenancing fatal injustice, 
refusing to curtsy fiendish inxs did piss 
her off (poisoned scorpion sting) remiss
cheekily peppering psyche as if Swiss
 
cheese, a once spunky Arthur Murray shored 
dance instructor, who scored 
door prize in the guise of thee less torte sured 
near nonagenarian papa, where meanness poured

from grim mortal outlook parlayed moored
deadly reaper, quashed, ruined as lord
stole, sacred maternal tribal nurse, unfairly did hoard
final precious seconds unexpectedly meant un explored
positive rapport forever undergirded "door"

closed to resolve ambivalence with venerable bead 
did association between 
     kith and kin, unfairly 
     dead poet society lettered deed
wrested a vibrant life despite zest that freed

a vibrant gal to coast along dialed up esprit
     de corps spirit to live, yet greed
of metastatic cancer upended lead, 
where mind over matter, sans power 
     in positive thinking rubric and plead

ding didst kill last ditch homeopathic screed
ambitions trumped, thus giving up the ghost 
wracking sadness, sinking sorrow spilling most 
lee tears of loss, among family, fellow Unitarians 
of the Thomas Paine Fellowship 
     included with your obituary post.