Elegy

Click the grey arrow above for sound.

As a child her favorite color

was black,

an omen I guess.

I remember her in

Ms Mason’s art class

crouching over a sketch pad,

her hair hanging

in thick clustered tendrils.

 

Now, near the end of her death march

she steps carefully across

the stage at graduation,

a victim of chemical warfare,

bald and bony and ashen,

smiling bravely at the

harsh flash of the

commemorative camera.

 

Who would have thought

her frail form could

muster such majesty?

That such a young girl

could model for her elders

how one might die,

bravely, beneath the buzzing

of early June’s whispered promises?

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s