Jesus once died-
but then rose
through the mists of night
from the confines
of his dark tomb.
No such destiny awaits
those left on earth though-
And as the thin horizon of time paces closer,
I realize that for others-
mortality is gradually
taking the shape of small,
unknown
shadowy figures
in the distance.
Slowly-
each Easter dinner
has seemed a bit smaller,
as we all move slightly
to fill empty spaces
beginning to grow
between one another-
as silently-
whole people have begun to fade.
Eventually-
a chair will be removed from the table
to hold up the magazines
in the corner-
but replaced
with a worn and brittle
child's high-chair.
Once used by my father-
and my sister-
and me.
No comments:
Post a Comment