The earth tilted last Monday.
Words pile up in my throat
and if I speak them April
will never bloom again.
How did goodbye
find a seat next to me?
It was an apple pie day
of baseball, your footprints
in the dust, simply the flu.
You aren’t supposed
to be tucked somewhere
between a eulogy and
tear stained handkerchiefs.
My son, you told me you
wouldn’t forget to take
peonies to the graveyard,
pink, my favorite color…
run your fingers along my etched name….
I shouldn’t be the one sitting
in a field of hyphened granite
smelling wilting bouquets
- fresh turned earth.
Oh God, Why did the earth tilt?
It was only an apple pie Monday.
My husband lost a second cousin this week. He was only 43.
These are my compound word choices..footprints, somewhere, graveyard.
Comments
"and if I speak them April
will never bloom again."
the granite reference and just the whole slow/shocked feel of it all. I felt this poem as I read it.
"How did goodbye
find a seat next to me?" -- this is stunning.
find a seat next to me?'
is so laden with emotional power. What a question bombarded with many answers of silence.
A drama that seems akin to a mesmerising mime.
I am sorry to hear about the young cousin's death. People aren't supposed to die that young.
..