The Invisible Path

The littlest one scrambles through the forest
of dark suits and somber gowns
weaving and bobbing along an invisible path
among an undergrowth of grief and frowns.
A hiss to his right grabs him by the arm
and yanks him away and into a room
with a long buffet and more flowers than
an entire garden; here he can zoom
uninterrupted by the cheek-pinching aunts
or the austere specter of his grandmother
sitting there atop her casket, watching
the family perform their pain for one another.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s