Posted in 52 Poems, Poetry

52 Poems – Week 6

This week’s prompt is to write about the weather. The first thing that came to my mind, was how hot the weather was when my mother died and how hard it was for me to cope with it. This is a still very much a work in progress.

clouds during golden hour
Photo by Hoang Loc on Pexels.com

It was August 

It was the beginning of August

when my mother fell ill, rushed to hospital.

Not just any August,

this was a scorching summer in the Algarve.

Her weak heart quit two weeks later. Still,

the sun stayed stubbornly hot. How could

it be, when everything had changed?

The world would never be the same again,

yet the sun continued hot and shiny and bright

as usual, like she was still here to grill sardines,

for the family to enjoy after a day on the beach.

Like we could still go out for ice cream or gather

around for lazy afternoons around the table.

Why did the sky not show any sympathy

when my world collapsed? How could

there be any on joy on Earth?