Been years
Since the last time
I saw them
And now
To learn they have departed
This world
Brings me down
Even though
I can’t say
Inconsolable, maudlin
Lugubrious moods
Or funereal grief’s
How I mourn
The deceased
Who were known to me
Only as
Cold nursing homes
Just the half of me
Even the kid-me
Disowned
Can’t explain why,
Just know why
I had to get going
Was better off
Lonely as ever
Up-growing
With not but a mother
And sister
To guide me
And not but some
Pen and ink pages
To hide me
That side of my
Ancestry,
History
Dead to me
Lost to me,
Costing me
Nothing but precious
Life seconds
Spent guessing
A second chance
Giving
My father a message
Don’t think me your son
But someone
You rejected,
Abandoned,
Neglected
Yet always expected
To sit silently
In your presence
With presents
Unwrapping to find
Hollow sentiments
Resonant
Still reminiscing
In retrospect,
Love-bereft
Lost holiday
Christmas list
Wishes to forget
Ever naive
My reason to believe
When you’d leave us
You’d leave us
A reason to grieve
Family matters in tatters
Don’t matter to me
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The Solstice in Bad Gumption
‘How do we go about it?’ The group of three men and one boy shifted from foot to foot around a bonfire spluttering sparks in the bone chilling drizzle, a few hefty stones sitting amid the flames. They were thinking about all the time it took to get it going in this weather. Someone sniffed, someone coughed. They all felt cold and uneasy standing at the edge of the fields sprawling in front of them in the dusk, with their backs to the dripping birches surrounding the cemetery.
By Katarzyna Popiela day ago in Fiction
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