The Inheritance


When my mother died, she had a flat

Belonging to social security and the was nothing

Of inheritance to speak about

She had a bookshelf full of books. Most belonged and

Were stolen at the local library and she was selective

When it came to literature.

There were also books Stalin would have approved 

Happy workers at a collective farm.

When I came the flat was empty; it needed a lick of paint

ready to receive other clients, the bookshelf was gone.

Relatives had taken furniture and pictures

Which I assumed needed the more than me.

I felt sorrowful about the books they were my mother’s

Soul, most likely they had been thrown away

By non- readers; mind I had read most of the books

She was particularly fond of Dos Passos and

John Steinbeck, but books never die, I remembered them.

My mother and literature go together I no longer

Read as much as I did, but my mother’s eyes are still

There, in my dreams.

◄ walls

to my heart ►


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M.C. Newberry

Sun 22nd Dec 2019 14:36

Mothers and books share a quality that never fades - the ability to teach make us more informed and aware.

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