The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #237
piece, bucks, hike, law, match, ramp,
drone, cross, chop, bay, see, believe
Sunday’s Whirligig: Wordle #45
germs, skirts, envelope, fever, carrying, cake,
swaying, memory, suitcases, hiding, scissors, sharp
Poets United: Poetry Pantry #289
Driving up the ramp to the long bridge
that crosses the mouth of the river, where
it meets the bay. See long line of snow and ice,
like white frothy frosting on ice-blue cake.
I was flower girl at their wedding, wore a soft
blue satin dress that swayed as I walked down
the aisle in matching satin slippers. We are quiet,
skirting the issue that precipitates this journey.
Each carrying individual suitcases of memory,
hiding germs of grief that cut like sharp scissors.
Although we believe (enveloped hope) in an afterlife,
reality bucks its head with unasked questions.
As we hike up to church entrance, am aware
that this piece of my past is no longer breathing.
Conquered by that final fever and the natural
law that all life ends in death.
Not anticipating drone of funeral organ, I look
up to see his sons. Each one wearing aspects
of his visage. Can finally let go of the breath
I’ve been holding and see image in my head.
An axe falls, chopping ice into smaller and smaller
chunks, allowing it to melt so that life may flow
freely once again.
Elizabeth Crawford 2/7/16
Notes: My uncle passed away and we attended his funeral on Friday. He was my favorite of the twelve we had, and husband to the woman I am named after. I was four when I stood up for their wedding. He was an integral part of my existence, both of them present at every major celebration and family gathering. I was okay once I saw his sons, now in their forties and fifties. It was like knowing, deep inside, that somehow he would still always be there.
I used all of the words and the image is a photograph taken two years ago and enhanced digitally.