40 Days Gone

This is when it does not help

to speak. Or to stay

 

silent. When the roosters

you drew come to roost

 

in the mud below the waves,

when your drowned plum blossoms bloom

 

and close. When your son

crouches on the floor, head in hands, below

 

a picture of your missing plane

on which he has written:

 

Dear father, please be back home

safely.  This is when he listens

 

for your roosters, blindly seeks

the scent of plum. When

 

we have no right to travel

with him. When prayer

 

when prophesy, when why

when the clouds slowly

 

write your name. When the sky

erases it.

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2 thoughts on “40 Days Gone

  1. This is one of my favorites, Rose. It made me cry!

    We had made plans to
    go fishing, walk in the park
    celebrate this life

    celebrate this life
    of flying people and planes
    bringing them closer

    bringing them closer
    to their work, loved ones, their dreams.
    We had made plans too.

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