His Old Clothes
decide … phone people … arrangements need made …
cannot pick … call who … where … when … oh, casket …
My world just stray-shattered fully dismayed
and pain’s pall stretch-burns me like thin plastic.
Blue morning just took Dad …
Hued my fragile blunt-sad.
My brain’s left its launch pad;
no thoughts compose.
Tears full oppose
planning-time throes.
Now at Dad’s home, where his feel has not strayed,
my known hangs dreadful on vague creased tragic.
Whisper-feels of his old clothes hang scent-clad …
for my grief's nose.
... CayCay Jennings
June 5, 2018
Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment