Painting by Fereshteh Salehi
When she saw him,
death was sitting on the footboard
of the bed.
She wanted to guard him, to cuddle him.
Some prayers crossed her mind:
They all come down to time:
the same time weighing heavy on her hope.
Who will he meet the first day in heaven?
Does heaven exist?
Will an angel call him over and whisper nice things
in his ear?
All her confusion and unhappiness penetrated
her skin like needles.
The same needles she could see in his arm.
They still had so much unsettled,
so many loose ends.
She thought about when she came to that land
and they sat on the porch, contemplating
the magnificent sky, weaving plans, creating love.
All she needed was a miracle or maybe
a new part of speech to name what she was feeling.
But she couldn't remember words when she was nervous.
But she couldn't speak when somebody said: "I am sorry..."
After his death, she spent some time quietly.
Nobody heard her accent or her despair
or saw her sheetless bed.
She left that land exactly as she arrived:
afraid.
Karla Bardanza
Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2011
You have an exactness in description, one that I have not seen in another poet in a very long time. I appreciate the candicy in this. Blessings ~ Flower
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