Poems by Gillian Kessler

Updated: Apr 12, 2020

By Gillian Kessler:

My mama died at the beginning of this year. Saturdays are now the hardest days. Saturdays, a little before one in the afternoon.


She was my lady. My dear friend. My lounge around on the bed and chat. My eat fine cheese and crisp apple slices partner. My let’s go deep and now. My fellow lover of Birkenstocks and soft, flowy pants. She was my champion of radical acceptance. A love force. A love blanket.

She died quickly. One day she was leaving me another silly phone message filled with love and random thoughts and strange questions, and the next she’d been found confused in her little apartment. A showering of strokes.