Dampen this a bit for me,
will you?
Wipe it underneath my eyes,
and over my mouth,
and below my nose,
and when it gets good and red,
let me know,
and I will give you a new one,
Where is it that handkerchiefs go to die?
You asked me that once,
and I thought it was a stupid question,
handkerchiefs had been extinct for quite awhile,
replaced in life by the tissue
in name by the Kleenex
Just as well,
I suppose,
Embroidered or not,
who wants a pocketed reminder of their grief?
There was help in letting it run down you like the tributary it is,
and there was a peacefulness in grief,
only surpassed by the pain of perfection
No comments:
Post a Comment