Carrion
Her children were segregating her belongings
Into two heaps, 'Litter' and 'Cash.'
She had died two days before, and they were tearing
At the carrion of her being.
From a stack of papers in her son's hands,
Several pages had blown into the shrubs.
He had not bothered to pick them up.
Unable to lift himself higher than his character could arouse,
He threw her collection of old love letters, verse and journals,
Into the trash bin.
As he discarded the treasure of her thoughts,
I gathered three poems from beneath the bush.
Reading the last lines from one:
'Forget, if you can
All the dreams we began,
I really had a lovely time.'
And, the lid slammed shut.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
Added by Poetry Lover
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