Three Days

[Jerrybaldy]

Beautiful morning
I'm whistling to a summer song on the radio
Sun streaks in through the french windows
Sparrows dance on the bird table outside
Dog wants a walk, tail wagging
Wife is in the kitchen in her pink dressing gown
It sways as she dances to the song
Whilst squeezing us fresh orange juice.

Dark Morning
Radio shatters into silence against the wall
Can now hear the rain rattling the french windows
Get gun. Splatter sparrows on the table
Dog's not happy. Tail is down.
Head into the kitchen.

Beautiful morning.
Radio doesn't seem to be working.
Sun streams in through the french windows.
Dead sparrows. Blood, Sticky feathers on the bird table.
Dog is on the floor whining
Led next to my wife in her pink dressing gown.
Paw prints in her blood. Bad smell.
I search for oranges.

[Hawkman]

Well, providing this isn't actually a confession, I'm prepared to confess that I loved it. The black, deadpan humour is masterfully handled. Outstanding. H

[breathtest]

...and there i was thinking it was going to be an upbeat poem. It WAS great though.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Indeed, the narrative held my attention all the way through - and then blew up in my face! Imaginative writing.

[tailor STATELY]

Just the imagery I didn't need to visualize on this day of days.
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Reflections on 7/13/2006

A suicide

What he thought when he opened the door
to their home just in time to hear the report
fired from his wife's hands in the guest room is
far beyond me in nightmarish fashion to fathom

But I've tried

Sometimes my limbic or animal brain
tugs at my consciousness in
times of supreme weakness
giving me pause to question
Questions too hard to ask
for the answers that might have been
might have been even harder to bear

Visions of splattered skull and brain and blood
that was mostly gone from the room
by the time I had arrived the next day
somehow plague me for I was so fearful to enter
that familiar room, and did not
A room I had occupied in happier times on visits
to an ostensibly happy, love filled home
A refuge for me when I was oft troubled

A room cleaned by loved ones with a
steely resolve after the tragedy
masking tears and grief I scarce can imagine

Memories of a surreal discussion
I was there at the hospital
where my sister had been hastily spirited to
after the fact
On whether or not to heed the wishes
of my dear departed sister
To donate her precious organs that might help
another - the naysayers winning out for
vanity's sake of all things

No regrets do I harbor to not view the body
that was my sister
No, I left that to my Mother and older sister
and nieces and others in my weakness
Content to try to comfort others while containing myself
Content to attend the graveside memorial

And every year the tears on birthdays and anniversaries
and holidays and just-cuz days
Because she's always with us in spirit with the laughter
and joy and love that is my sister

And I thank God
for my gaining an eternal perspective
on family and life that sustains me to endure to the end
Doing all that I can do to make my life and perhaps the lives of
others somehow better

for

But for the grace of God, might I have preceded
the angel which is my sister
by mine own hands

:tailor STATELY
7/13/2010
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After reviewing both poems I like yours better.

Thank you for invoking a way for me to purge myself.

"If your vision is for a year, plant wheat. If your vision is for ten years, plant trees. If your vision is for a lifetime, plant people."- Chinese Proverb

And I would add: If your vision is for eternity, plant His Word

[Jerrybaldy]

Many thanks H, breathtest and Prince. I am happy with this post...

My sympathies for your loss tailor and my apologies for my timing.
Best wishes
JB