stiff
icy
the tears don't fall
perched on the edge of
the steel folding chair
the widow is supposed to be sad
the widow stands up
she says her bit
face flat
same words
a great man
face flat
stoney stare
her shawl slips
"a great man"
the bruises dispute her speech
blotches
litter her arm
purple, blue, yellow
the sky of an upset day
no one sees
she sits
the man is dead
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this poem is also from the amazing @timeisnow's "carmina poetry contest" (the prompt was a funeral)
thank you for reading
xx
