Salutations
By Ann Chaippetta
Goodbyes were said long ago
Although I couldn’t say why.
A life of 80 years has ended
And with it, the deal making begins
Preceeded by melancholy
Preceded by guilt and denial
And anger, the funereal umbrella
A Black winged shroud
Flapping and snapping
Refusing to fold.
Preceded by watching my father slowly die
A young girl’s fractured attachments
Brought on by divorce
A father’s quiescent avoidance
Built the wall in due course.
I know
Sad refrains and death’s bitter dirges
I’ve grieved since age nine
Of death and dying, what do I really know?
I question
the purity of loss, the sanctity of morning
Because I surely haven’t achieved either
With the solemnity of a widow’s attire
Or baptism by fire
Though I’ve tried.
What I know
Flutters like film strips
Time lapsed, momochrome, and silent.
In this heart and mind
All there is, all that has gone
Is feather on stone
Wind on water
Gone.
2013