Your goodbye has me surrounded
by all the roses you never gave me.
It is unsettling to have my senses
assaulted by bouquets of irony.
I hear you whisper in my ear,
“Scissored petals only steal
green from my pockets.”
Like a deposed witness I answer questions
with expected answers of where and when,
but why is deflected by, “God only knows.”
Is this Tuesday? Sunday still shows on the calendar.
Time flies…Well, the fog has wings…
A depth of six feet requires too many choices…
metal or wood, decorated dignity or austere,
definitely not a gray lining, the hierarchy of padded
chairs…
Now I am expected to shed tears just because
eternity is punctuated with stems in pretty vases.
I want all of it to be over…You’ve already reached
silence.
I hate to sew, yet here I sit stitching wounds….
praying I have enough thread.
Comments
I am so in envy right now.
This is just amazing work with the intimations of death abounding.
Goodness that hit me so hard.
praying I have enough thread.
To think there is not enough fodder to counter the long-standing unfairness imposed by the inconsiderate male. Great lines Susie!
Hank
Been there, done that. There is an old CW song, "Thank God and Greyhound, she's gone." My ex's 4th husband was a keeper for her or she gave up looking for what wasn't there or whatever. Plus they moved to West Texas.
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