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The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write an elegy. I had two (plus the one I posted last about my dad) that have been percolating.

 

Carol lost Bill

not that she misplaced him
rather he moved himself, or was moved
like his illness moved him,
not of his own volition –
jerking and thrashing against his will.

Sometimes your mind doesn’t obey
Sometimes your body can’t

Against both of those he strove
to contain his self
while muscles melted
cells corroded
all the dissolvings of old age
accelerated
til this one day when every little thing

Stopped.

What you cannot reach in life,
may you rest, in peace.

 

April 5  A tiny elevator

PJs memorial is just an old hula hoop
a flag, some fake flowers
a fancy pen, some quarters
a shriveled plant, some Christmas garland.

PJ was six.

the tiny elevator does its thing
ferrying people up and down
slowly in the 6 story building.
some people still refuse to enter

PJ was six.

he and his friend were riding
down,down,down to the street
the door opened on three
and a man with a big knife
sliced his world in two

And the screaming
and the bleeding
and his friend shouting
rang the shaft.
and the iconic smell of blood
warm in the June air
still plagues the neighborhood.

Coming soon.
PJ will graduate
to a building with his name on it
with a gym and a dance studio
named after his friend.

PJ was six.

 

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