Askance
And the cemetery was thunderstruck,
so was I.
Cold, gray, March evening—
winds pushing the clouds
spewing slanting icy rain,
with a low angry murmur.
From the traffic signal I saw you,
standing firm on the ground
your neck stretched upward,
looking directly above
past the rain that occluded your view
Your blonde hair flew in all directions and
your hands —planted steadily by your side
unlike men and women who stand
with heads bowed down and hands
clasped in prayer for their dead.
Who were they I wonder,
whose grief stabs your soul!
A child you carried in your womb,
Or a husband who walked your side?
Was it mom who provided you shade
Or dad whose shoulders you rode?
A sister who hugged you in those times
Or a brother whose shoes you stumbled upon?
A friend without who was your sunshine
Or a beau who had your heart?
Wanted to stand stealthily behind you
Or throw a rock at the sky above.
But who was I to disturb the defiance?
Your repartee with the wizard,
your moments of askance—
“Lord, why did you pluck them?
And since You did
Now, strike me dead
Don’t want this world
Where they don’t tread”
2nd place in contest "Any poem you ever penned"
Copyright © Sara Chansarkar | Year Posted 2016
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