August Is Like A Month-Long Cemetery

August is like a month-long cemetery—

   The days are tombstones that I wander through.

So many passengers on Charon’s ferry:

   My dad, whom I’ll never be equal to;

My mom, who’s up there smoking Larks in heaven;

   Meir, who would have loved Cold In July;

Brother Gary, still pissed at brother Kevin;

   Michal, whose loss can still make strangers cry.

Part of me likes to think that they all know

   I’m thinking of them; but part of me fears

That when we die, it’s nowhere that we go,

   And all who live weep self-deluding tears.

      Yet weep I will—weep and believe that crying

      Can banish loss with tears of love undying.

 

Copyright 2014 Matthew J Wells