I think of you when black cars pass

Under turf turned wide and silver wet,
under the understated brass plaque,
you,
deep in the sod,
deeper in me,
not somewhere over there,
not untelephoned
but beyond even my losers’ reach.

At the end of all your summers
they placed you among the married headstones,
some still sharp carved,
some blunt with moss,
to the left,
yesterdays patchwork grass knits together,
to the right,
weeds outgrow the flowers,
but I will remember you,
the rain on your last smile
and your fondness for saying
“nothing lasts forever”.

With the sun and you in my eyes
I can’t decide which hurts the most.

© D. Archer. September 2013.

Advertisements

Type something here preferably in English

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s