Absence as a Blanket

I closed the doors to my four cornered box.
The silence so deafening, images fall off
the prisoned walls. May's mother left for the summer,
with her drinking desires and pictured dreams,
and my body's greeted with morning crisp air.
I am stripped of nurturing access,
for a glimpse of familiarity.
One hand in my mother's, the other in yours.
His hand denies my warmth, but still
The two hands conjoin as one.
I leave the maple-leaf my hazy memory
of cluttered collages and collateral conflicts.
I forgive your absence
and take comfort in Montana's wind
the blurred mounds, and mixed hues of purple.
Drifting through the land as a reflection of self,
He plays games of why and how come. I didn't win.
For I grieve the life I must live,
when death forgot my birthday wish.