The Left Arm's Funeral

for the "Unnecessary Line" challenge

By Imola TóthPublished 8 months ago • Updated 8 months ago • 1 min read

He wept into his mothers skirt.

The day was hot with salty steam.

The old oak bent to offer shade for

the one who had to learn

how to be full again.

The pastor raised his head,

sweat droplets melted down his face,

he didn't know what words to say

to ease a phantom itch.

"The clouds look like turtles."

They lowered him slowly,

into the opened earth below the gnarly tree.

He threw his toy train on the casket.

"So long, old pal."—so, it came to full circle,

and now he has to learn

how to live whole again.

Just a chaotic draft goblin from the forest.

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