If only we could shed grief as our skin does rain.
This is not like water. You must go. Go farther down,
down until you know you find the deepest quiet
of comforting darkness, see the last train whistle
sounding this has ceased, hear no more semis out
on Highway 95 crossing, the cry of the circling hawk,
a last throated sign of harmony come upon you.
Once there, may there be closure, may you remember
only the teeth of the saw as it sits softly unused,
may your mind be its clearest, a pool undisturbed,
and may all that sorrow be a sparkler’s glimmer,
a brief impression against the night quickly gone,
leaving the heart beating unburdend in that place
where you have made your final peace with his ghost.
* * * * *
Happy #WriterSunday. I hope you are well in this sobering time. Today’s writing prompt is
Use the #WritingPrompt to inspire a piece of writing, and then post it on your page and link back to me, or leave it as a comment below. I would love to read it : )