Salutations

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.

 

I know

Sad refrains and death’s bitter dirges

I’ve grieved since  age nine

Of death and dying, what do I really know?

I question

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

Gone.

 

 

2013