Shock. Thunder in my chest.
We too often think death is
A prank until the second
When it’s our turn to throw
The clump of sand on a wooden box.
The birds are lining the electric wires
Held taught in some places,
Loose in others.
Trampled little blue flowers
Beneath my feet scream
In protest of being buried by my soles.
You now under my feet
And me not knowing how it happened.
And me wondering how it is that yesterday
You were looking at those same birds
Perched on these loose electric wires
Now they looked at you as
You were lowered in the ground.
Chest stubbornly stoic.
A large, deadly wound
In the stomach, they said.
A surgical operation
That death prevented.
Lethal pains that took you away.
And now I stare
At the birds and wonder why
You won’t ever hear their chirps anymore.
I try to recall how long it’s been
Since I saw your large, plastic smile
And heard your empty, warm laugh.
You dug holes around you and
Poisoned your arrows before
Letting them loose in the sky.
They sailed past the sky above me,
Past the birds and possibly
Came back to pierce your guts.
I wish I could
Maybe spill one single tear,
But I have nothing to give Sorrow:
That blind, destructive beggar.
So I turn away from him,
Sigh deeply and close the door in his face.
You are gone now,
But I have hope of dawn.
And I have hope that with my last breath,
My sisters will hold each other
And wipe each other’s tears before these
Spill down their cheeks.
That neither of them will
Be eaten by regret of things that
They could, would, should have done but
Can do no more.
And I have hope in the Lord- that He may
Protect me from being darkness
Instead of light.
I should really be crying now.
But the reality of your death did not
Detonate a real tsunami in my core.
There is only the somberness and removed
Sympathy that comes with disbelief,
With not knowing who you really were
Because of all the different masks you wore.
Tomorrow the birds will chirp on the
Same electric wires over your house,
And there will be no one to curse them
Anymore, or send them away-
Only the remnants of a menacing woman
That could have lived better.