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Johan Venter Poem
I wasn’t there that day you left us
Music blaring
Engine running
stationary.
I wasn’t there the day they embalmed you
lined up amongst others in state
But I imagine the dead waits patiently
Still
I would have wanted to hold your hand,
While you parted, drugged and suffocating, breath.
I would have wanted to wash your feet,
While cold hands cleaned your flesh.
That day of final parting.
Your descending white coffin,
jerking unceremoniously, not stoppin’ ,
I dropped in the poem no one would ever read,
definitely not you (I knew you would if you could).
Red roses thud thud dropped as if knocking on wood.
Delivering the death notice (again) – putting you to bed.
(Like that knock on the front door weeks ago)
Sick reminder.
A stranger friend trying to take the shaking shovel;
I grunt jerk back possession from the face at the end of the tunnel.
There’s a difference between throwing dirt over shame,
Stranger friend,
than to cover her - clout enfolding, protecting, that which remains.
Five shovels in, it comes floating down by;
(Unnoticed that day)
Pure and white
the feather touches down amidst the dirt.
So ....... you…
Drunken interlude and weeks gone by…
The first winter drizzle cleaned your black granite stone,
whilst late afternoon rays still try to warm your bones.
White frost on black tomb announces winter,
As I notice the yellow roses reading,
“Miss you - Mom and Dad”,
had wilted.
They hung themselves…
I drop down bitter bereaved bruising my knees,
And try to crush your gravel blanket.
as the granite shards draw blood from bare hands,
I weigh my ashes on your scale.
My flesh is heavy but my heart seems empty;
I would’ve joined you, taken your place,
because like you, from my day of birth -
My soul screamed suicide.
I smile as irony hits;
As we were kids, so it was now:
You always jumped first no matter what I drew.
So ....... you…
Rest in peace my little sis.
Johan Venter © 2014
Copyright © Johan Venter | Year Posted 2015
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