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by James Zealy

Polished granite face
Supplants her torpid form
Charcoal speckled engrave
Dates her post mortem

Wind whispers, do you hear?
Spoken with authority
Hello my dear
Vocal even in her sanctuary

Columbarium door glistens
With an image of still waters
The valley of deaths shadow requiem
Sings loudly as silent patters

While mortal grandson tears
Pleads goodbye in arrears


Author's Note: My son for a lot reasons never really faced his grandmothers death, until he visited her Columbarium as of this week.

Posted on 09/12/2008
Copyright © 2021 James Zealy

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 09/13/08 at 04:20 AM

I did not know what a columbarium was, so this was very enlightening. I like how you let the wind and grandmother speak to your son here as he comes to terms with her death. You've described this experience sensitively.

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 09/14/08 at 12:43 AM

You catch the sense of mortality that must be faced. Your last lines indicate that happened! Very respectfully and emotionally attuned.

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