Saturday, November 26, 2016

Release of the dead

How do trees grieve their daughters
little leaves, getting sicker with autumn
never able to protect them against the ill wind

how can you grieve something
that has died, the plant on your window, for instance
you thank your wits for not buying that goldfish

no woman should rely on a man for feeding
when you are part feeder, part fed
you turn to yourself, stare

at the hair, released, shorter
the death, apparent on your skin ever day
even with these uneven lines

nothing stops grief when it hits
not the wind that turns the leaves yellow
not the same wind that toggles with your hair

this is why, atop the mountain filling with old trees
you release, dead, the locks of hair,
his memory and old tree leaves,
everything deserves a burial

No comments:

Post a Comment