Mom Died Somewhere Between the Window Blinds

Mom died
Somewhere between the window blinds–
The sun took her home
In just a mere blink of the eye

She’s in a grave now, not far
from where she was born
A solitary place, in peace
What she wished her world to be

Morning sun is so important
Not just to hungry house plants
Leaning desperately in its direction
It awakens us all from our sleep
The darkness surrounding our light

Mom died
Somewhere between the window blinds
A place eventually light finds us all
Leaning in its direction
Hopefully to go home in peace


Note: What do any of us know about death until our time comes? Maybe even then we know nothing about it. For all we know, death could be no more or less complex than light passing through the window blinds.

Author: Don Iannone, D.Div.

Biography Photographer, poet, teacher, complementary medicine provider, interfaith minister, and former economic developer. Holds a Doctorate in Divinity, Master of Divinity, Master of Mind-Body Medicine, and Bachelor of Arts degree in Anthropology. Clinical certifications in Reiki, guided meditation, life purpose coaching, and spiritual counseling.  Author of 12 books, including two new books in the contemporary spirituality field. Learn more here. Contact Information Contact Don Iannone by email:

5 thoughts on “Mom Died Somewhere Between the Window Blinds”

  1. Hey!
    i just found this blog, and i am already in love with it!… great work.

    i like to read a poem a day.

    i was wondering if you could write a few posts on the new poets whose works are available. I find it hard to pick a living poet’s work to read. if you could may be present some that you yourself might have read recently… that would be great.


  2. So true Don.we dont know anything about death.All I know is when it is our time to leave this earth it comes, and no one can stop it.

  3. is this poem about your friend?

    your poems are like so many good stories.
    you are a wise man with a young heart.

  4. Love the chipmunk and the flowers too, by the way;
    Much better than butts in an old ashtray….
    They’re pretty and cute,
    And artistic to boot….
    Not to mention
    They’re fuzzy and gay.

  5. I know nothing about it, but , as you say, “death could be no more or less complex than light passing through the window blinds,” and that sounds pretty darn reasonable.

    A fine poem, Don. Thanks!

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