Hans am Ende
Maedchen auf der weise
I buried him long ago
during a spring much like this one,
on a day when shadows pierced the wind's cry.
A shore bird crossing the blue,
looking for leavings at the local McDonald's,
touching the periphery of my solitude,
the only marker of memory
worn like a chain
around my neck.
The call came through
much like they do now--
but I think
I had a princess phone then. Tan with a retractable line.
Who expects bad news when the sun is shining?
Still, there is was,
hanging fully in the silence of her inhalation,
a tear through the fabric of my life--
one that resists patching even now.
So on days like today
I watch the butterflies against the blue
and wonder if pieces of his soul
continue on in the life around me-
in the bees that flit by me drunk on pollen
and in the leaves that grow so steadily
When my tears touch it,
I can almost smell him near me,
his aftershave a mix of the spice of heaven and earth.
copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2014
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