I’m Physically and Emotionally tired
I don’t want to be the strong one anymore
I can’t this time
I don’t know what to do Daddy
I need your help down here
I can’t get back in control of my emotions
I’m having a hard time dealing with your absence
I’m having a hard time standing by myself
I need your help Daddy
I’m broken and lost without you Daddy
I need your will to want to carry on
I need your strength to over come this
I need your strength to stay standing
Your courage to fight back again
I need your help
Please Daddy I’m at a loss
How am I suppose to do this
I need your guidance
I need you to guide me back
To whom I was before
I need your help Daddy
I need your help
Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel
Once again he climbs the hills above the salty bay
and walks along the path through fields where she used to play.
His silver hair and tattered clothes blowing in the wind,
that whispers the name of his sweet darling Carolynn.
He sits upon a rock and looks out to the water,
and once again she comes to him, his precious daughter;
through the ghostly floating mist, he sees her smiling eyes,
those eyes where forever more, his heart and soul reside.
She takes his hand and leads him to the fields of clover;
to that place on the cliff that the old tree grows over;
and he sees the rope tied 'round the bough of that old tree,
and feels the sunshine on his face, hears the humming bees.
His heart begins to pound, like a hammer in his chest,
as she runs with glee towards the overhanging crest;
he tries to stop her, but his feet stay froze to the ground;
he screams to no avail, being deaf she hears no sound.
She laughs and waves goodbye as she grabs the braided rope
and runs with all her might and swings out above the slope
and in that moment, he hears the snapping of the bough,
and he sees her dangling there, high above the brow.
He sees her startled eyes and he hears her helpless cries,
just before she falls on to the rocks below and dies.
He falls to his knees screaming and crawls out to the edge,
and when he looks below, he knows that he too is dead.
And they find him forty years from that fateful day,
Hanging from the old oak tree, where she used to play.
Copyright © Elaine George
Many times, I saw my spirit.
Many times, I felt my soul.
In life, I lived courageous.
Now it is time for me to journey home.
If you cry, that is fine.
If you laugh, that is better than a cry.
Rejoice in my life and shout praise.
For I am
Therefore, I shall be
In peace, I leave this world.
To my love ones, I am with the Lord.
Sure happy to have lived
Not sad that my time has come
The benevolence of the spiritual realm is a breeze from a waterfall.
The Lord is my keeper.
He called me home.
No more sadness let us all rejoice.
Ms. Carrie Mae Sexton is now reunited with Jehovah God Lord. A woman of statue...
A woman of worth... All that knew her will truly miss her.
Never a life lost but one done with the world and because she walked a virtuous path, her life is shown. The Lord knows best and we must know the same. Our mother sojourns and in peace, she lays.
[“Be assured that just as an hour is only part of a day so life on Earth is only part of eternity.” C.L. Allen]
User Name: Verlena
Psuedonym: Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Motif: Grief and Bereavement
-Contest Enter: Space & Time - Metaphorically written... Eternity is space and time... February 2014
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker
Elegy to Child Lost
Passion's love oft tempts despair
Casts a prideful cosmic dare--
Like Prizing Joy's most intimate caress
Babe snug beneath a mother's breast
Senses at this time are keen
There's no secret kept between
Loving mother, wriggling babe--
Wanted , dreamed of, much delayed
But entwined twin was also loved--
Some say Nature's method proves
That one twin may give all to mate---
But this fatal sacrifice must decimate.
Only mother's eyes would feel babe's smiles--
or sense those legs that wandered miles
And daring feet that danced in tunes while
Arms swam in gentle Celtic croons.
When babe vanished--not a sound.
Mother 's grief was not allowed.
Tempted so to trail behind
Escaping shattered troubled mind.
Squelching sorrow's hungry arms
She Tried erase babe's fluttering charms
Never spoke of-- never mourned.
By her husband she was warned
Was best forget a child so early lost--
Funerals, gravestones--such a cost--
But the years have called babe near,
Mother's journal writ in tears:
'Please forgive my selfish heart.
Repressed from all --this tragic part
I felt your sacrificial act--
You left your cherished twin intact'.
There is no law of random acts
Doctors examine data facts
It may be --that in the womb
When both spring flowers cannot bloom
One bold twin refrains to eat
Compels the other to complete
Hardy growth that life requires---
Sparks survival's crucial hours.
Not an accident 'tis sure--
Boldest spirits blossom pure.
Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop
"Daddy" the way I call my father
The man who loves my mother
The man who gave life to me
And the man who will risks his life to protect his family.
He's not showy about his feelings
But I know he loves us unconditionally
He gets angry when his siblings were hurt
And he makes us laugh the way he dances and tells us jokes
Now..he left us already
His silly jokes,crazy dance moves now were gone
Coz he went to a far away land
In a place where hurt and sorrow has no place in man
I miss my daddy a lot
His crazy dance moves
And his being father to us
I miss everything about him!
I know God has a plan
And I give everything into His merciful hand
Pls.take care ofmy daddy in heaven
Coz someday we'll see him again
And continue the sing and dance with him again...
Copyright © Jerica Sanchez
You held me for a moment
For just a moment it would seem
It seems like forever ago
Although I could never remember
Remember those warm-filled months
Between March and November
November was the end
The end and a new beginning
Beginning of a new season
A season such as Spring
As Spring would bring new life into the world
A world with unreasonable sin
A sin as lifeless as Autumn
(Autumn to some called Fall)
Fall, when he would fall
A fallen angel,
An angel gained
Or gaining a loss?
The loss of a day,
The loss of a life
A life that would end as the day turns to night
The night always dark
The dark calls for closed eyes
Eyes that await the promise of a sunrise
And so the sun would rise
But some still remain asleep
A deep sleep they will not wake
Wake me up from this dream
Dreams of an untold story
A story was cut short
Shortness of a heartbeat
A heart with no beat
Better count your blessings
Blessed life-long lessons
Not to lessen the longing
But I still belong to him
He smiles upon me all day all night
The night, I am used to days without light
A light grip, a solid hold
Hold me so that I don't fear no end
End this yearning, hold me for a moment again
Copyright © Shakeela Kingzley
written 22nd Oct 2013
Even after sixteen years
still I cry your daughters tears
Every year on this day, will always be sad
known only as the date, God took my dad
1st June 1954- 22nd Oct 1997
Allan Thomas Holmes
Copyright © Denise Hopkins
Copyright © David Whalen O Haolin in ancient Celtic
You’re skin and bones, chick.
Compassion commands me stop,
stare, on my path, where you sleep.
I see dryness, hear stillness, feel silence.
You’re skin and bones, chick.
Were your chirps for worms
silenced in unsound Mother’s ears?
Your wings, too weak,
too still, on your first, failed, flight?
Your plume-less limbs
Coverless in cold night?
Uncovered corpse, bony chick.
No shore water to wash away
your undug green grave
in a low, lonely juniper.
My eyes wash me in salt water.
I have a path; yours ends here
your bones sinking, my brain soaring.
Which frightened robin, fleeing my footsteps,
was your misguided mother? So unlike mine,
who saw her child, underfed, and said,
“You’re skin and bones, my chick.”
Copyright © Alexandra Romanyshyn
It was a beautiful day
A day of celebration, a day of thrill
It was the day of my sister’s 18th birthday
The most waited day of a girl to be a lady
and I? I was a girl that time and all I have to do is to
Observe and cooperate
And it was our most anticipated moment
To witness that celebration
and to witness our dear father
as the first dance of my sister
who was missing us for many years
because of separation.
Yet we didn’t know that, that would be the
first and very last day of the year that we’ll see him
His body was so thin
His face looks sickly and heartbreaking
He looks so different
But he remained calm and at ease
Michael Gan the first rose,
He stands and overwhelmingly danced for my sister
They turned and sway
They dance like it was the last
He was overjoyed
Filled with different emotions
Happy, touched, sad, missing us, and regretting
His heart jumped over him
He tries to catch his breath touching his own chest
We hasten him to the nearest sickbay
To salvage his life
His precious life, my father
Battling from death, loses his fight
His eyes wide open, no air
No movements, no smile because...
It was his last dance
Copyright © Ana Mae Gan
The Romantic Legend
The lord of the manor near the coast of Algarve,
Behind the manor a forested valley where
Packs of frightful wolves roamed.
A day when his youngest daughter who was a bit
Odd-as she took no interest in suitors- went to
The glade to pick flowers, she met a he wolf.
Not afraid she petted the good animal and his
Eyes she discovered love that asked for nothing
And had nothing to give but love itself.
The daughter when doing needle work had stung
Herself and there was a drop of blood on her
Index finger, which the wolf lovingly licked away.
A miracle happen the girl turned into a sleek,
Wonderful she wolf with silky black and tan fur.
Their union was complete and love rewarded.
The pair found a cave in the deepest forest
Where they lived happily for many years until
The he wolf was killed by a bigger animal.
The spell was broken and she was now an old
woman, alone and scared, where love´s light
had shone there was fearful darkness.
There was a knock on the manor´s oak door,
An elderly woman claimed she was the daughter
Of the house but, she was not believed.
It was a rainy night and when the door opened
Next morning the servants found a young girl
With glade flowers in her folded dead hands.
What sorrow, what grief, but she wore a smile
“Vale de lobo” the forest doesn´t exist anymore
And a paradise of love is lost to a legend.
PS “Lobo” wolf.
Copyright © jan oskar hansen
Rondelet: Yang be evil
for the continuously raped and hidden
minors of India
Yang be evil
Yin acts with rash impunity
Yang be evil
No power controls the Devil
Wombs despoiled in mad enmity
Innocence: raped humanity
Yang be evil
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2012
Copyright © T Wignesan
written 23rd Oct 1997
So long I needed to visit
but my heart didn't listen
Letting you know how much "I love you so"
is now something, you will never ever know
Now that you are gone
I know I waited to long
If I could just have that one more chance
I would never treat it as just another glance
Now, you have become my biggest memory
for you have gone, to a place I can not see
Knowing that we will never again touch
makes me miss you, so very much
My children are still to young
to wonder why pop hasn't rung
My heart is now empty
for you, it always had plenty
I really do need to have you back
you were the "only one, who saw me back
I know deep down inside
you love me, more than words could describe
For it is only now, that I realise why you didn't want me around
you knew how "painful it would have been, to watch you drown
But, as long as I am still alive
you too, will continue to survive
For I will always be your darling little Denise
who hopes, you forever rest in peace
ALLAN THOMAS HOLMES
1st June 1954- 22nd Oct 1997
Copyright © Denise Hopkins
written 17th Nov 1997
I am here today to set you free
but inside of me, you shall always be
You will never truly leave
as your love and memories, continue to live on in me
I have come to terms with you leaving
your love I shall forever continue in believing
I will forever miss you very much
for I know it's impossible, to ever again.. kiss or touch
Although you were never rich or royal
your heart remains, eternally loyal
So these are the hardest words for a daughter to have to ever say
I pray you hear these words from my heart today
From your darling little Denise
saying my final good-bye to you, my dearest daddy
Praying, you forever rest in peace
Copyright © Denise Hopkins
Destiny fraught with hardship
So much in aconite life of the
In row prone with some ponce
Who could save as she fret?
Conscripted in a route routed
On lisping lips of the wobbly
Like bird she could afar and
appear in minute
As it were when one is peregrine
It could be anything but help
Dove like as seen on thy alter
Not just a deist in your
What could have warrant such
Towards these wench
If there were life after where she
The issuance of ones isonomy
to beloved family
Like teddy bay roaming in the
hands of strangers
Straining in no altercation
Yes, she live up to her mournful
Waited in many of her days
Maybe the sun could deign and
benign her path.
Copyright © kelechi Emeaba
Let me sing this song
Dozens words in my yearning rhythm
Delivered within the wind of autumn
A single pray, only for you
In this moment of silence
Bearing clearly in my mind
The love we have given one another
In our years of sharing
You embraced me with endless love
A love that cannot be compared
And it lights my sky forever
Made me a woman I am
We are destined to have each other
Since my first breath, until your last
So I sing this song for you,
Copyright © Shirley Candy
I MOURN WITH YOU PROFESSOR
Shadow and mirage are thesame;
The former is never a substance
And the latter never an oasis.
But the death of a child is both:
Hope is dashed and respite betrayed
Leaving only behind the pain of rising utility
That often comes from the nostalgia of reality...
I mourn with you Professor.
Copyright © KAYOD5 Kayode
I fear death, not quite death but yours, and not yours but mine
I guess I fear my death in being your survivor, but not quite
I fear grief, that it might consume me once more, but not mine
I guess it is your sorrow and despair at death that is drowning my life
I've been here before; I don't know how I survived or what inside me died
I had so many questions that she never answered; they never left, never died
So your gasping breath brings back my sorrow from that walled in stasis
I teeter on the rim of a well that reaches grief's bottom blackness, I lied
It is not your pain I fear, it's mine. I did not survive her deathbed
I never again lived. I died with her though peace I never found
I don't know if it was her death, my loss, hers, or the death cycle
But the air has stayed musty from graves while I pretended not to care
I don't know if I was there for her, or how she felt that last morning.
My memory lapses with that of the child I was then into dreams of gray
I don't know the pain of death, if it is worse to leave or know you are leaving
I don't know if she found peace or her heart broke for me or because of me.
Sorrow swells as the memories fade in, filling that well with blackness
I know that if I don't fall, it will rise up to suffocate me again
If I jump I will lose myself and never find you to say goodbye
My memory lapses, I think I jumped, did I tell her goodbye?
I fear my grief. Grief is all, nothing before or after exists.
I fear that grief will over shadow my mind and I won't be there
I fear that this sorrow will rob me of the words to say I love you
I fear despair will take my soul and this time I'll have nothing left of home.
How do I ask you to share this life with me when I don't know if I'll survive your death?
How do I ask you to live each day and don't let me run when I ran from her?
How do I ask you to believe in me and don't fear when I fear myself?
How do I ask you to comfort me when I'm too afraid to comfort you?
I never asked her to hold me again, to comfort, because she was the one dying.
What right do I have to ask the sick to comfort the healthy, the dead the living?
And how could I, being the first spirit to die, ask the ones who speak of life still
to comfort the shell I left behind while theirs decays before my eyes?
There are no comforts to sooth the guilt of living, but forgiveness will birth new life.
Copyright © tara jennings
Outside My Window
I sit on Dad's heavenly bed as I pen this write
The mournful heart looks outside
The window which for the moment is mine
I view with his eyes and the heart inflates
The orchard is blooming ready for fruiting, but
The hedges look wild while lawn's not mowed
His cane chair is empty while mother is beside
The newspaper lies folded on the tea-tray with specs
The tangerines in pots dangling near to death
None to tell my brooding dear mother
'Preserve them in bottles before the season is out'.
September 12, 2015
Contest: Outside My Window
Sponsor: Bev Smith
Copyright © Balveen Cheema
Even now, watching you,
I try to gather the essence of your life.
Memoirs locked tightly in
A jar that clenches our united
Soul, when I look at you.
Don’t let go.
Already gone, does your spirit
Now when I should be saying
Do I bitterly turn my back.
It’s killing me, stealing the
Part of me that is you.
So I close my eyes
Hoping not to see,
What It’s done to you.
So I remember who you are,
Each time I play-
Pretend you are still here.
So I gather the essence of
to erase the reality of
Even now, when I can still
I prepare memoirs of,
Copyright © tara jennings
Daddy's Little Girl
Near twenty-seven years since he has passed,
Not a day goes by he does not enter my thoughts.
No presence of knowledge this time might be the last,
Our final words were an argument that I've since forgot.
Only a few short days after we disagreed,
My headstrong ways came honestly from dad.
I noticed one morning his right ear did bleed,
He said, "Don't worry sweetheart, it's nothing bad".
Myself I blamed for the longest time,
Re-assurance came from many others.
Was an old war wound that stole his mind,
Is what the doctors told us and our mother.
Seeking comfort in church for the feelings of guilt,
Always remembering that heated moment of shame.
The bond between us that took years to be built,
The stroke he suffered, I assumed all the blame.
Months passed by and more strokes to come,
Whispered words in his absent ears how sorry I was.
Did he hear me say "I'm sorry"..just maybe one?
I sadly doubt he heard my words of sorrowful love.
Before I knew it, the good Lord took him away,
When he was gone, my mind was in a whirl.
As I sit here and write and even to this very day,
I have faith he knows, I'm forever "daddy's little girl".
Copyright © Maggie Mae McAfee
The clouds look so harmless, so meaningless
But when they're there, and the sun can't shine through,
I feel you a little bit less.
I hope you watched me today,
I tried to let nothing get in the way of my unexpected ambition.
Seeing my dreams come to fruition, though, is nothing compared
to having you here to be able tell you about it.
I am unlearning morse code, it's like going blind,
I have to adjust, change, roll with the times and get used to it.
I feel like you and I are without a conduit.
I went to send you a message,
but is a message still sent if you're not there?
I feel scared, the phone is a reminder
of when you'd tell me to be just a little bit kinder.
Listen, remember, regret.
Look at the photographs, cry, weep, repeat.
The touch points of my life are still in place, milestones still not met
but the memory of your smiling face
stops me like a fox in the road,
scavenging on tatty Polaroids to feed
something that everyone says I should be soon throwing away.
I'm not ready yet to do all that.
Your fingerprints on a glass are the only things I can make last.
Copyright © Em Kidd
You lay in the wooden cot,
a broken sparrow,
Crushed. Bony. Frail.
Hair once plumed gold,
greyed to clumped feathers
like ragged trampled wings,
strawed out on the dank pillow.
Face once blushed pink plump,
Jolly kind of soft with life,
Sucked to bone. Nose to Beak.
Echoes of the mask it will soon become.
I stroked this woman
now bent back to foetus pose.
Once sworled to shell,
wrapped inside myself,
Now boned to carcass stick.
I wanted to hold one more time,
frightened the last air would puff to nought from its hollowed breast.
But my sparrow turned and smiled,
a grimace to crack open any gates of envisaged hell.
Macabre teeth, once glowing love and laughter to the skies,
Now pecked to ochre stalks.
The pitiful bird pained to move.
Mucous mouth clacked open wide
To receive some lasting morsel of life.
Only its beady blue gaze
flashed a soul of its former self,
eyes to haunt the sea.
I swallowed back my tide of tears,
waves of memory flooding sands of life we’d shared,
from fledgling dawn cry to this,
the final nesting box.
I wanted to stuff this cot with down
of a million eider.
To cosset and hold soft this scrawn, gnawed through.
Pluck teal, goose, swan.
‘Who would have thought it would come to this?’ it croaked a laugh.
I matched smile with smile.
I held the tiny claw.
Desperate not to cling too much to pain,
too much to past.
I wanted to wrap up this dying bird
Limp, in my hanky.
White folded white, fold on fold.
Run through the streets
shouting at the world, at some unseen power.
She’s mine. She’s safe. Take me.
What cruelty did I do?
What evil must be stuffed in this maternal breast
To hold this daughter dust in my arms?
Copyright © Laura Payne
Who is a Father?
He is the Man who loves you the most
He cares for you as much as he can
All through out his life!
He works hard all his life
Just to see a little smirk on your face
He goes overboard bringing you things
Till his last breath he gives you the strength
To carry on and to love,care and share!
So after his death you have to remember..
All the times he bruised his feet trying to get
You that special"ducky" in that hidden cabinet
You should cherish his every word and deed
His life must you cherish and pray for
His happiness and wellbeing in the Life after!
Copyright © Seema Ali
There is a glare of stray sunlight
daring to reverberate
through spiderwebbed glass I haven't
found energy to fix
in the span of four years.
It is too much of a mirror,
too tangible a thought,
to make new.
It's lithe fingers, thin and bony,
and mockingly bright,
steal over embossed cardstock that arrives, like clockwork,
in deepest sympathy.
And a thornless bouquet of pastels laden with
only draws on blood long lost;
nobody seems to comprehend such an allegory,
or lack there of,
so it can't be carried
over the steps.
"Bloodless On Mother's Day"
Copyright © Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Gathered as usual to celebrate the mothers day
One by one the children went up to say
Just how much they loved their mom
While they call on her to join them on stage.
Earlier today on media and social networks
The pictures and stories of moms filled every where
Now it was time to proclaim to everyone
What a wonderful gift you've got for a mom.
Friends and family want this day pass me by
But I needed to be on stage to sing a lullaby
The very one mom taught me and others
And to tell them I love my mom as well.
I mount the stage just like the others
Brilliant eyes and hungry ears wait in expectation
Though I didn't call mom to join me there
But I told my story nonetheless.
And when I finished in a voice so soft but clear
I could see a spark of tear in everyone's eye
For I told them of a bond so rare
And I sang of a love so dear.
"Mom would have come but for her journey
Though she couldn't make it but I don't love her less
I'll say all about her, it will help you imagine
First you should know how much she loves me so.
She loves to tell me stories and taught me how to cook
She tends to my injuries and taught me how to farm
Although you can't see her, I'm not standing here alone
She's always a thought away, that means she's here with me.
I'm proud to stand for the love we shared
I know she'd be here but heaven is too far
She was a true soldier who died at her post
Fourteen years of diabetes, she couldn't fight her ghost.
Sometimes when I close my eyes, it's like she never left,"
So I closed my eyes on stage and there she was beside me
I think others wanted to see her too, for when I opened my eyes
A room filled with mothers and children, had their eyes all closed.
I think if they didn't see her, they at least felt her presence
For a very cold breeze blew across the hall and carried with it a sweet scent!
And for a moment I had this relive, that heaven is never too far
And this year mothers day celebration, I can say is my best.
Copyright © Stellamoses Hart
I remember how I cried
The day my father died.
The doctor laid the blame
When he said that cancer came:
Lymph nodes, lungs,
Philosophy of Carl Jung,
Words of explanation
For everything, no blame,
Too late for shame.
The final service was long.
I tried to be strong.
But the stench of red carnations
Can still fill my imagination,
Words of the Lord’s graces.
Planted in a peaceful lawn,
For the shell of this world is gone,
Yoked into heavenly bliss.
But, when I think of him
There's so much we missed.
I remember how I’ve sighed,
Thinking of my dad with pride.
I’d sit on his knee
My ear to his chest,listening to him hum,
And he’d give me his pennies for free.
He would mow, I’d sweep,
Then we’d have a snow cone treat.
Poles, bait bucket, tackle box,
Days we spent fishing from piers and docks.
Hair black like Elvis’,
Ears and features like Clark Gable’s,
Loud animated stories
Of his oil company job,
At the dinner table.
Fedora, big pleated trousers,
A pocket watch on a chain,
When I close my eyes
I can see him again.
I look in the mirror and can see his eyes,
Staring back at me in an eternal guise.
He didn’t live on to see me grown,
Missed out conversation on the problems I’ve known.
But his gifts of life,
And his gifts of earthly love
Still ground me on earth,
Angelically guarding and guiding
Like the finest made glove
Existing throughout our human family's
Journey of love.
Copyright © Patrice Lauren
DEATH OF THE CAT
Cats are all the same?
Zimbo was his name
He was an Asian Mackerel,
That’s his colouring term technical.
About nine years old, everyone’s pet
Went missing for days, daughter began to fret
Older brothers found him cold
On road, by a car he’d been rolled
Just one knock clean on his head
And the poor wee thing was dead
Zimbo was laid in garden by the boys
With weeping daughter adding his toys.
I’d been working away for two years
The States, Moscow, Algiers
Missed the kids and their growing lives
Taking them on walks and drives
Missed their exams, prizes, colds and ‘flu s
What birthday dress to choose, what daily news.
It’s I who should have been there at
The final farewell to the family cat
This one event showed clearly to me
How I’d lost my role in the family.
Just a little creature which had to depart ?
I still feel pain from my heart-dart.
Copyright © Sidney Beck
Death, I've seen your face before,
heard your knock on my son's door,
that time you came without forewarning,
the shock, the grief, the endless mourning.
This time I felt your hoof beats thunder,
dark horse tearing all asunder,
cold hand of death would seize another,
lethally, you chose my mother.
Death divides us like a wall,
no encore, no curtain call,
and though we can't be side by side,
our love can cross this great divide.
Life is short, or so they say,
but grief elongates every day.
Time, they say, will heal all wounds,
but mine are deep and widely strewn.
The midnight sky is bright with stars,
I whisper to you "Au Revoir,"
a gentle breeze-my cheek is kissed,
I hope you know how much you're missed.
Copyright © Danielle White
(Part 1 of Trilogy for My Father)
His shoes by the front door make me cry
like his glasses resting atop an
and his toothbrush in its holder
the bristles still damp.
And I wonder...
Did he brush his teeth before he
put the gun to his heart?
A cereal bowl waits in the sink
The laundry basket overflows
"To Do" lists adorn the refrigerator.
Suicide is not on the list, and I am
He was a tidy person, neat
organized almost to the point of obsession
That's how he lived; that's how he died.
I'd have felt better if, for once in your life
you'd left a mess. But no
even in the ultimate act of selfishness,
you strove to be polite, choosing to lie
on the shower's cold tiles, no doubt
thinking we could just flush the blood away
with the turn of a faucet.
Yes, the place is spotless.
A tiny trace of blood, a single gouged tile
are the only signs that a life ended here.
It seems, somehow, that there should be more.
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman