grief – Aremyfeetofftheground

Rhonda

~ I felt the x-ray blue of ghost bones as you stepped into last night’s silent dream. I knew your glow: the afterimage of my blinding from your sun. Poems I write, so often nondescript, come back to you in the end, and you will never know, my friend, for in your afterlife you wander far.~

~Brother~

Expecting a rude tin can— “Here, this is what you can afford”, I opened the entrusted six-by-six box with my car keys (here, this is how prepared you were). Inside- his ashes, of course, but in a dark red bag of the thickest velvet I had ever felt, drawstrung and tasseled in gold. His remains (bone-beige, of course) were like so many grains of rice, though I thought of them as seeds. Tomorrow, I will be down by the riverside for the casting and the crudest of blessings, with a hardy shrub for the planting, and with tears, I expect, still unshed.

Forlorn

Have you awakened
from a theatre of tears?
You know,
you smiled and cried,
as did the players
who once were yours.
Sweet one,
may this day help your heart home,
and give respite from your tireless search
down the winds of the world.