(from the NaPoWriMo prompt: write an elegy of your own, one in which the abstraction of sadness is communicated not through abstract words, but physical detail.)
Greyed-out snapshots
and fuzzy holiday moments
white-edged borders
with dates—sometimes
the months and
years and, maybe,
a little red horse
uncles and aunts
and sisters
and cousins
new cars and new homes
and new babies
followed
by
new babies grown old
with their own babies
and old houses
and new hairstyles
and groups of
boy scouts
in ties and cowlicks
and bankers
in ties and cowlicks
and sorority sisters
in matching skirts
and old women
in sundresses and bonnets
being judged
for pies
and
banana puddings
at church functions
for the dearly departed:
Mildred
Mom
Hazel
Virginia
Baby?
To all the lost people
whose families are gone
and stories have faded
out of time then
sold to thrift store
owners
and junkers,
I see you.
Opmerkingen