Stark

Stark

There she laid

Rigid with no rising of the chest to be seen

“Move” I whispered

“Move” I whispered again

But she wouldn’t move

‘Maybe if look away she will move’ I thought to myself

But still she  laid there rigidly

Maybe if I was terrified she would suddenly wake up and scare me

But still she didn’t wake up

She was laid down into the earth

“One last chance” I said

Even then she moved not a muscle

Oh the feeling of emptiness…

To wish for what was gone to come back

To wish time would come alive and physically turn its arm around and give me more of itself

But reality often leaves us desolate.

With no oasis in the dessert.

AD

03/13/24

I joined a challenge of writing a poem a day for the month of March and Stark was the prompt for today. This prompt reminded me of something that I have done since I was a child, and as a child I thought it would go away when I reach adulthood. But, alas I am still the same way. I still vividly remember when my paternal grandfather died, I stood in front of his casket terrified; yes dead people are terrifying to a child but it was more than that, I was waiting for him to wake up. Waiting for him to wake and smile at me, waiting for him to pat me on the head in his ever so gentle way, but he never did. Many many years later, my maternal grandmother passed away and the same thing happened again. It was during her funeral service at Fleetwood. I remember standing in front of her casket waiting for her to wake up which well she never did. I have often wonder if this is a normal occurrence but it is hard to bring things like this up in a normal conversation. So, here I am asking you, have you ever felt this way before? Is it the fact that we love them so much that we become reluctant to let them go and we hang on to the little tread called hope. The hope that it was’s real they are not dead, they’ve just been sleeping for awhile and they decided to wake up at their own funeral. I don’t know…

See You Later, Abigael