The First Few Days After Death
A poem
Looking in through a downstairs window.
New and old flames.
Many movements,
reminiscing in rooms.
Distant and dark.
Shapes,
suffering, suffocating but
breathing.
A one person less space.
A hand on a window
leaves no mark
as others look out.
He loved that garden.
That was his tree.
What will we do with his bikes?
Do you know a charity?
Looking in through a downstairs window.
Terse, tense – as the emotions at those times can be. I like the mood created by the sparseness of this.
(I think there’s a typo in “That what his tree.” ?)
Elfstone
Hi, thanks for the comment and I amended the text.