We didn’t make the funeral, and now almost a year later we make it to the graveside of Poppy.
That’s COVID19 for you. We are not alone in such journeys.
Time to say goodbye and prayers.
Nana, David, Sheridan and I. Standing in a row, on windy, warm day. Prayers rising into the air.
Roses bloom whilst visitors gather for funerals and grave side prayers.
Nana shows us the plaque.
We meditate and contemplate.
If he was here, he’d be telling jokes and stories.
He’d be taking us for a walk around the block.
Instead we see him through the memories of neighbours ‘I remember Howard, every day he came outside and say hello’ as David and I walk around the block without him.
And as we walk to my brother’s grave, I see this one. And I think of this little one who had no earthly life, whose twin…
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Ripple Poetry 