Three autumns ago, he passed;
why did she keep it from me for so long?
Even her pet's death was moaned louder;
why the question hides in my throat;
a cautious balloon of fit pops,
finding answers in the lovely picture-words
of encouragement she'd send in evenings,
lest I'd fall ill, with lingering claws.
I'd seen and felt of bleakness in his empty room
when I thought of him;
like a worn feather on the snowy sand beach;
her relief, after years of caring for him who would
pay her by drinking and weeping.
Words swirl in the smoke from the chimney,
silent yet loud, brother; after that, peace;
like the gossamer of light
in the room. all things understood.
©Byung A. Fallgren