Memorial

A small, smooth hand runs along the worn granite
Upward it moves as it feels its way across a rough bronze plate
Etched with letters and numbers, indistinguishable
The minute hand extends and touches the top of the statue
Eyes, like small pools of ice look towards the sky and fall down
Looking lower, the gaze catches an abundance of color
The hand reaches down, attempting to become acquainted
Fingers run over a silky white petal as the eyes close
They open again, to look down at the flowers once more
Why is something so happy, so vivacious in such a sad place?
The head turns and the ice lakes peer into deep green eyes
The tiny child opens his mouth as if to speak
Only to instead look away, as in fear, as in thought
Lethargically, the head swivels back to the side
Looking into the dark emerald eyes once more
As words form inside the throat and pour out the mouth
"Daddy, how can this be mom? Where is she?"
Father responds, "This isn't her. This is only her memory."
He grabs hold of his son and carries him off into the fog
They look back once, together, only to become one with the mist.