Every detail must be right, but time had worked its way –
I had planned last year what I would wear, the old pleated skirt,
the one I wore on that memorable, life-changing first-kiss day.
The skirt will not zip, I’ve grown fat with his child,
the infant that kicks within me, pushing, unwilling to delay.
I hold tight against his hurried entrance – I know we’ll have a son.
I will strap tight my belly, my dear one must not see my state.
His last thoughts must not add more burden – knowing I will bear alone,
a life as a mother in a town unwilling to suspend belief in guilt, unjust –
Mindless, tough in body and soul, as a unit willing to cast the first stone.
I find some fabric, bind myself, resurrect the blouse I wore, bright red.
I’ll stand against the barrier, close enough for him to gaze at eyes of love.
I will flash my diamond in the sun to cast an innocent aura around his head.
Powerless to untie the knot or smash the scaffold where he will stand,
I’ll hold the memory of his smile for me, the drop from sight, then swinging, dead.
Later, his ashes in a simple box, I’ll wait for spring’s first rain.
the lion of March with its first torrents will come, departing as a lamb
leaving behind the roaring stream with its waterfalls to banish pain.
With his laughing son, held in my arms, I’ll cast the dust we’ll all become
through the light of the sun the mist has prismed to a rainbow I’ll not see again.
Dear me, another morbid Wordle from me. The words went that way, but my mind fought it, because, judging from yesterday’s post, you can tell that I am quite happy and joyous over the arrival of spring. I continue to wish you all enough. . .