Child Burial – Paula Meehan
Your coffin looked unreal,
a dust
soaked mirage.
Last week I watched
as you
climbed, giggling,
to the top
of a pink dogwood.
Ripping back
my arm,
The chainsaw
comes to life.
Thousands of
blossoms,
As delicate
as children,
Crumble to
my feet.
Life cut
short.
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