Elegy (2)
After Twenty-four Years
You were so tired. I’ve never
seen rain like it when you went.
How often does it happen? The
undertaker had to take you
back. We would wait, and
tempers would flair before
the morning when finally we
laid you to rest beside Dad.
That waiting was such a shame.
I’ll bet it was the worst night
you’d ever,
or ever will have.
One thing I’m sure of:
the next morning it was you
who determined the weather.
In your slight, gentle Scots brogue
you put things in motion. You’d
had enough.
Last evening, I’d done my best,
singing as the hearse moved
not to the graveside, but back
up the street. I’d failed. So,
as I remember it; at the quiet
graveside that morning, only
the minister’s blessings. All
else was whispers. I heard
your fading voice in the wind.
From you, I’d learned forgiveness.
Others had too, and others had not.
Benita Kape © 24.4.2018
Today for NaPoWriMo we have for our suggested prompt Elegy.
benitakape 