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.
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?
