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Rating: 3.4
It’s good you came—she says.
You heard a plane crashed on Thursday?
Well so they came to see me
about it.
The story is he was on the passenger list.
So what, he might have changed his mind.
They gave me some pills so I wouldn’t fall apart.
Then they showed me I don’t know who.
All black, burned except one hand.
A scrap of shirt, a watch, a wedding ring.
I got furious, that can’t be him.
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COMMENTS
Dr Antony Theodore 21 July 2020
But we’ve got so many Thursdays left this year. I’ll put the kettle on for tea. I’ll wash my hair, then what, try to wake up from all this. A very fine poem. tony
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Deepanjali P 21 September 2017
Only few can understand that pain what a person feels on his big personal loss. Very well described.
0 0 Reply
William Stribling 14 July 2013
This poem made me cry. Pity for others, for myself.
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