December 13, 2012
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12/9 Poem
This poem was about a particularly haunting incident early on in my professional career. For some reason, I thought of it this morning.
Papers
I brought them to the house
to be signed, a stranger
entering a vigil,
surrounded by shiny eyes.
I walked behind a preteen boy
who skulked like a lion,
he bristled, his grief an open wound
that could not scab over.
She sat listless across from me,
and the little man took her arm
so she stood, terrycloth robe falling open
spilling the remnants from the funeral.
We walked to the table in silence
as the boy collected her dignity, neatly
tying the robe in a graceful silent move
as the papers were fanned on the table.
