Someday I will be a memory she said
I heard, and when I looked at her face
I saw that her lips had not moved

and today which is always the first warm day of spring
where all the trees are suddenly startlingly green

I remembered that my mom has been dead for many years
and though she is dead, I am a memory of hers.

If I had a pen
what poems I could have written.
As they cleared away the memory of love and hope

—Tom C. Joyce. In memoriam.