storm at a funeral – a poem

Just before this there are the dark clouds
At the window sill, my tea steeps
Cold steps out from behind steam
I think of lace on gram’aw’s table
Then
Sheets of rain
Gray damask and linen curtains
a cough clearing the air in an empty parlor
blue skies outside, cruel joke
Still cold, though.

 

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Published by

K.A. Wright

I believe in a few things, every so often.

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