They put her ashes
in the ground today,
my grandmother,
and I didn't cry.
The eulogies were stirring
but my eyes dry,
no tremble in my voice
when I stood with
my sister and sang.
Hours later now
I sit by myself
in the art museum
around the corner
from the church.
Where the words and
music of the
morning failed,
the lines and light
of the artist
succeed.
Undone, I cry
grace for the sinner
whose tears are too late.
1 comment:
Haley, I'm so sorry to hear about your grandmother. Grief is so, so hard to feel well. I'm glad you were able to cry and that art provided the catalyst.
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