On a visit to Corleone

I love Sicily and this happened on a visit there way back a long time.
Comments welcome.


On a visit to Corleone

 

We, who did not know her,
stood, respecting her death.
You removed your hat
as you had been taught
from distant childhood swipes at caps
by anxious maternal fingers.

I watched as people standing by
traced cruciform patterns
with their fingers.
Respect or gratitude?
It was not their wife or mother,
passing strangers to the music of an out of tune band.

Behind the ones who carried her,
two small children
dressed in unseasonal black
carried a picture in a heavy frame.
Their tear stained faces upturned,
bravely defying loss.

A man in a black suit
and collarless shirt
crisp and white
despite the sun that made him sweat
the tears that ran from eye to neck
unstaunched.

I felt like an intruder
not meant to be there,
not meant to witness their grief.
Something like a robber
or a voyeur
wanting to take pictures
that would look clever
in black and white.

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critique and comments welcome.

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Sweetwater
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You have created a very strong image here very powerful words too, tears came to my eyes as I read through and visualised the whole scene. Beautifully done. Sue.

Supratik
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Beautifully sad. I could relate to it, been there done that.

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