Epitaph Poem by Lucienne Kim Flavell
Epitaph
I miss the smell of smoke
coming in the open window.
You would sit on the step,
in a circle of light
and watch the sunset.
Exhaling;
your lips were an 'O',
your breath; a wreath
above your head.
Your pack of Marlboro
gathers dust on the shelf
and your smoker's tray
is full of rain
and autumn leaves.
I remember
your cigarette butt glowed
and the ash
scattered in the wind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/6/2026 8:04:34 PM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
