| remembering
carol |
|
| . |
--- |
| and in her twenty-second year |
|
| she would conclude |
|
| there was just too much |
|
| sadness in her life, |
|
| that things had quietly |
|
| gone wrong and hopelessly |
|
| so out of hand, |
|
| so she'd decide to act |
|
| and take control of what |
|
| was left for her to take. |
|
| . |
--- |
| and I remember standing silently |
|
| in numb surprise |
[and who'll pick up the pieces |
| with many others in |
who would try |
| assembly by the dirt |
who will remember |
| that fell like tears |
who'll lament |
| upon the casket drizzling rain |
a fawn's cry |
| and wondering |
all alone |
| should I succumb to guilt, |
if no one hears her |
| or was there nothing that |
did she make a sound?] |
| a friend here could have done? |
|
| . |
--- |
| and still I am afraid |
|
| of darkness, so I'll wonder which |
|
| of us is more determined or |
|
| courageous than |
|
| i would be in her place, |
|
| or why she left |
|
| us here to stare |
|
| at one another and |
|
| the empty branches and |
|
| we here |
|
| will never know… |
|
| . |
--- |
| © Jon Bohrn (1997) |
