The Last of Family

steven wynne apple
I remember
How harsh and bright
The light shone,
The difficulty
Of physical presence,
Helping
My nine year old son
Have a happy,
Shielded
Birthday party
The day before...,
Before I had to tell him,
And the dull thud
Of my own heartbeat.
Unheard words
Were spoken
As my careful,
Pained eyes
Searched the faces,
Finding there their
Feelings and thoughts;
'Suffer the last of family.'
Although cut flowers
Adorned her passage,
In the years to come
I thought at times
To see her,
Sometimes thought
To go see her;
But finally I submitted
In heart and mind
To the final resting place.

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