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Light on the Day She Died

The ocean turned
Prismatic

Flame lit

The water rose to the sky
The sea had no end

Marigolds fell from the sun
Fell to the soil and rose up as little suns

This is how God speaks

Silent in the moving rays of light
Warm on the skin of the flower
The moon leaves without another word

The day enters
And enters again
I have regrets and they visit

They are the birds from the tips of the trees
They ascend up with the spreading light
They break open in front of the sun

There are too many to count

Rebecca Villineau writes and lives in the South Coast of Massachusetts. She holds a Master Degree in Social Work, and has worked over 14 years as a medical social worker. Her poetry has often been inspired by the process of loss, grief and the power of memories as a source of healing. Her works have appeared in Spillwords PressPoetry Breakfast and most recently the summer issue of Months to Years.

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