Final

It’s not final,
If the person placing a flower by the grave…
Watching my hand reach out of the ground and grasp such flowers. 
Grabbing them and pulling myself up like it’s a foothold…

Finality. 

When something is final. 
It’s like the last soccer game you played in high school. 
It was nice. 

She’s grabbing my ankle from the grave. 
Just because I thought she was gone. 
She’s not the zombie I would have expected. 
Just has a flower. 
I gave it to her but didn’t expect it to be like this. 

Finality. 

She has that flower still. 
It’s been three days since she came back.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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