I wrote this one for JD Mader's writing group on Unemployed Imagination. Head over there this weekend to read people's scribblings or write your own.
Starlings
His last words
floated,
soared into a sky
of curious birds,
murmurations of
past lives twisting,
floating in the
ether of yesterday,
the truancy of
angels.
unsure of raising
a glass in respect,
unsure if it’s the
right thing to do,
stalling ‘til the
son takes the lead.
nodding knowingly,
in that polite way,
too English to say
how they feel,
keeping it in,
stiff upper lip and all.
It spreads
outwards in violet hush,
memories filling with
postcards
of happy days and well-worn
anecdotes,
offering a bright
light in the cold.
creating pictures
in the quiet air,
filling their
audience with hope,
honouring he who
has passed.
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