aislingfwrites

30 Poems in 30 Days – Poem #17

In Uncategorized on April 17, 2013 at 10:54 pm

Poem #17

After the funeral, she grips onto open air as if there are ghosts hanging from ceiling fans just in front of her. Her cries are empty, soundless, all in the eyes, as if the dead stole her voice when they went. Her voice is buried alive, and everything she wanted to say to them is rotting in between the fingers on their clasped hands.

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