mikey

APRIL 28, 2004

Soil--- unturned
fresh... and still smelling of worms
Flowers laid in mourning on a lifeless grave...
...She cries...
New stone glistens with the drops of rain
telling stories soon forgotten
a simple dash is all that's left
a simple problem of subtraction
fifteen...sixteen...seventeen...eighteen...nine-
counting up the remembered years,
...She cries...
the mud from where he rests
mixes with the molesting tongues that
snap her back to safety- cold and hissing lies,
"everything will be okay."
... and She cries.