Flowers at your mother’s funeral
paint the brightest shade of blue.
A smile tugs at the corner of your
mouth, knowing I couldn’t be what
you need of me.
It’s a death for two;
your mother and me.
Autumn digging with a shovel
a shallow grave skips the hollow songs
we played on the way to each other’s
Flowers arrange an unexpected ending
at our wedding, fixing a translucent
grin on your worried, expressionless white lies.
I’m weaker than my knees let on; wasting space
in my head warms my soul with your embrace.
(© 2022 AC)