Lyrscriben

THE RINGING WAS TOO EARLY

The ringing was too early
For a Sunday morning
For anything but bad news.
It was my mother weeping.
“Lorraine died,
I loved her so much,
She was my only sister.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
What does a son say next
To comfort a seventy-six year old woman
Whose lost her last female confidant?
Then I thought of my wife.
“Would you like to speak to Jane?”
“Yes,” she said.