--procession--
we dressed them in thinned clouds—
no lace,
no hymns,
just wind.
innocence was light enough
to carry
in a breath.
"careful, don't wake her."
naïve had shoes tied wrong,
"she liked it that way."
the earth didn't mind.
hope—
never still,
tossed petals as she went,
still believing it was a game.
"her new home will always rain daisies."
no pallbearers.
just memory
folding paper cranes
in the corners of our silence.
by the road side,
stood
Hate.
in tailored quiet,
lipstick a stinging red.
she dropped
one
white
carnation
on the soil—
not mourning,
just marking her work.
she didn't stay.
just smiled,
as if to say:
"what did you expect?"
and walked off.
thin heels clicking—
her goodbyes.
don't wait.
for answers.
we buried the tiny coffins
beneath a tree
that once grew letters to santa.
we said nothing.
the wind said enough.
they said it wasn't murder.
only
"what happens
when you learn."
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