She gently touched the gravestone,
warmth on cold granite.
I watched from afar,
thinking of past losses,
and ones to come,
pulled toward
an unavoidable grand goodbye.
The mystery we avoid looking
squarely at,
blinking instead into the light,
til buying
gravestones and such.
Can these cells absorb the truth of their demise?
Can I taste the end while still eating the pie?
Comforting though, watching her
hand on granite,
knowing love survives.
What Survives
Published
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