This started as a poem about Lennon and became a poem about my mom.
It’s been almost forty years since John Lennon died.
The man who sang Give peace a chance.
If someone can shoot him,
What does that mean for the rest of us?
When a pacifist is murdered,
People notice the irony.
And then they go on with their day..
Except with Lennon..
People talk about his murder the way some of us talk about Kennedy.
Where were you when you heard Lennon was shot?
Where were you when you heard about Kennedy or Dr King or Bobby?
We define times in our life by the names of the dead.
It’s been almost two years since my mother died.
I called her mom,
But when it comes to death,
I become formal,
I don’t know if she knew me at the end,
But I like to think she did.
She looked at me before she stopped breathing,
And gave peace a chance.