A LINGERING

The smell of damp earth
reaching to greet the sky.
Your contorted face,
lemon still in hand.
Last goodbyes.
Your sisters wide smile
etched in you like a plaque.
Guiding words spoken in earnest.
The smell of your mother's casserole,
stuck to the curtains of your inheritance.
Is that your high-school friend
you see disappearing in the crowd?
A good book.
A really, really good book.
Finding dog hairs stuck on the carpet,
years after the flowers crowded his mound.

#11.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create your website at WordPress.com
Get started
%d bloggers like this: