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


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