Keeping Him Company
Clumsy feet transporting a barren shell,
She cannot lift her mournful eyes, she fears
her anguish will project, and she'll crack.
Barely visible behind her veil of grief
her lips twitch soundlessly, a private prayer
for serenity, or sanity?
For the security she cannot provide.
Her job, done, before even begun.
Her arms, they ache, they only support herself,
Holding herself in, the only thing protecting
her heart and soul from disgorging, cascading.
Still, she makes no sound, no motion,
No notion she can even feel at all, not now, not then.
She won't ever sleep again, void of horrors,
A recurring incubus to remind her of her unaccomplishment.
She rouses from her mental block, and listens to the thud
of dirt, upon buff, waxed wood, barely six foot below.
The same clumsy feet, transporting this barren shell
shuffles from the mausoleum, impoverished, arid.
A symbolic cross, her only trophy after nine long months.
Cemetery scents instead of talc and purity.
An abundance of unanswered inquisitions, what if? Why me?
But God chooses only the most special of angels for company.
26 Aug 2011
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