Sunday, February 17, 2013

On the Death of a Someone

His small obituaries are flat;
my name could be his.

I sought cold air for the first time;
I scribbled notes for a poem of words.

I put down the flashcards;
a distant friend was calling again.

The dead are dead,
and we can only take more spoonfuls.

Copyright (C) 2013 by Nick Edinger

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