Chrome Cheers
You left in a time of endings.
Mourners collected in pools on the grass,
dazed like autumn honeybees
fighting hibernation, exhausted
by summer’s grief.
Pilsner beer offerings
brought me back to a
cherry wood casket, precisely
the length of you. The lid
was closed, so our imaginations
opened it, painting impact-bruises
on your olive skin. Your thin fingernails
coated in their final shade:
turquoise-chrome.
Out of respect to your elders,
despite my distaste for brews,
I cracked open my can,
its tink echoing
beneath the town weepers.
Every April, we reluctantly cheers
another missed birthday,
taking murmuring circle-sips,
we pour you a swig—
liquid bubbling into dormant grass
beneath the willow tree.
We decorate your grave
with the empty cans, then fill them
with red roses from your daughters.
Around us, branches perform
a spring wind song, blowing our grief wide.
These days mend us,
for just a split second—
almost as long as it took
for your life to end.
About the Author: Felicia Clark is a literary fiction and creative memoir writer, poet, and author of her debut book AWAKE: Poetry for the Healing. Follow her at FeliciaClarkAuthor.com or @measurelifeinbookmarks.
Image Credit: William Perlitch “Substitute materials containers” (1942) Public domain image courtesy of the Library of Congress
As It Ought To Be 