Black Radio (to my mom)

Under the Christmas tree
was that black radio
with the CD player,
one of the presents
you never received.

Death took you away
and left the presents
so the radio sat in the kitchen,
everyone’s to share.

Cathy and I would
play loud music
when Dad wasn’t around
or I would take it outside
when sweeping the driveway.

It was sacred, that black radio.
It stayed there for years,
a subtle reminder;
just like you, there for everyone.

I don’t remember
what happened to it
but sometimes I realize
I still carry it with me
playing old CD’s
when no one is around.

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