2011-25

Last spring, the plastic
flowers were fewer, and
there was no poinsetta
wreath hung for the
Christmas holidays.

This spring, I passed your
tree and noticed that it
is barren, not just the
cross, but even the scar
left by your bumper is
gone, as if you never
existed at all.

Two blocks south, there
is a new white cross, with
fresh plastic flowers, and
a tiny teddy bear,
another family, fresh
with grief.




Poetry by Minhocao
Read 420 times
Written on 2011-07-20 at 11:14

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countryfog
I pass such a place often, sharing in the grief of something I don't know the details of and don't need to, to be reminded how precious and fragile life is. Perhaps "the plastic flowers were fewer" but your poem is a more enduring sacrament of remembering.
2011-07-20