I did not know her, here laid out, a careful combing of the hair not as I’d known it set before - forehead laid bare, cleared silver strands; not of my choosing, frame beside.
But father told he wanted this, a final farewell to his wife, though he knew, as did I, full-well, she long had left; this trolley bare, enforced that spirit flown the room.
By absence seeping beads drawn down - the knowledge that we paused alone skeletal cage deserted now. And since, the question posed myself - should I dissuade through queries raised?
Poor memory’s now fixed in place - this mask should not replace her face; some say dread visit reinforced, that shock fires mould of empty clay - unnecessary proof for me.
For him, for his, I dare not say; the sixty years entitle him to linger, lose, yet loose again the bond and knots that tied them close. And sons accompany past death
Previously published by Sparks of Calliope
Comentarios