My brother’s death-day is today, so the Independence Day holiday is always a little skewed for our family. After he was killed, I started seeing Monarch butterflies everywhere. This poem is for him.
The harsh rend of my regrets
torn into paper shards
flutter into your scooped out hole
where heated scents of pine linger
on the cusp of summer’s silhouette
edging the cemetery’s newest stone.
I lay beneath the blue blossoms
white roots dangling like lace
over your tattered wishes.
I would bury my yearning
in the dark and fecund loam
soak it with my tears.
Death holds us lightly
life persisting with unfettered intensity
in spite of mourning
your Forget Me Nots flourish
blue petals transformed though we both will stray
take wing and soar.
I wish all my American friends a wonderful July 4th celebration. Wherever you are in the…
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