The Junkyard

Those you love-

don’t always hear you,

They sit before you,

their eyes a broken windshield,

Some of the paint appears shiny;

their hair is lustrous

their tears still wet,

but their emotions are jumbled

like a rubber neck at the scene of an accident

the life that once was somehow in limbo

between beautiful and pitiful

“Breaker, Breaker 1-9, you got your ears on?

I hear the Beatles, Imagine….

the Radio still pipes excited voices

from the crumbled wreckage

my little girl hand reaches out

never fearful, like you taught me.

I cannot reach you, but am comforted

by the music, which reminds me of Christmas

the Beatles A-Z ,

What a gift it was knowing you,

when you were you.