By Ann Chaippetta
Goodbyes were said long ago
Although I couldn’t say why.
A life of 80 years has ended
And with it, the deal making begins
Preceeded by melancholy
Preceded by guilt and denial
And anger, the funereal umbrella
A Black winged shroud
Flapping and snapping
Refusing to fold.
Preceded by watching my father slowly die
A young girl’s fractured attachments
Brought on by divorce
A father’s quiescent avoidance
Built the wall in due course.
Sad refrains and death’s bitter dirges
I’ve grieved since age nine
Of death and dying, what do I really know?
the purity of loss, the sanctity of morning
Because I surely haven’t achieved either
With the solemnity of a widow’s attire
Or baptism by fire
Though I’ve tried.
What I know
Flutters like film strips
Time lapsed, momochrome, and silent.
In this heart and mind
All there is, all that has gone
Is feather on stone
Wind on water
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