Image by Michael Ging
When Only The Breath Is Left
On the third day after her grandson died
she thought she heard his
transistor radio playing
but that wasn’t even in the house
it was already
broken and buried.
On the fourth night
the door was left open for her grandson
she dreamed of masked dancers
in a row
she heard the cry of the deer
they all walked away
he was the one in the middle.
Dennis Tedlock
Posted over on Poems & Poetics
1 comment:
That's gotta suck losing a grandson.
xo
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