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 really nothing did she make a sound?]
that 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) ("On the Water's Edge")



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