Hanging
I saw you in my dream again
last night.
You looked at me accusingly
unsmiling
angry, disappointed
disapproving.
I ran after you
calling, begging you to
stop.
You turned around and
disappeared
mingling with the crowd.
I sat down on the dusty road
as I've done before
countless times
crying
wondering why you never talk.
Why you never tell me why.
When they broke down that door
and saw you swinging from the beam
No one knew why.
I used to follow you
everywhere.
I was your favourite.
Or so I thought.
When I heard the news
I went out and got
plastered.
The rain mixed with my
tears
dulling nothing
easing nothing
holding your grieving mother
who was set in stone.
And why are you so angry again?
Did you expect me to follow you
here
as well?
*Written for my favourite uncle who took his own life, without leaving a clue as to why.*
Cynthia Buell Thomas
Sat 23rd Aug 2014 16:43
This is really good, using powerful, evocative imagery controlled with great finesse so that the tragedy is clearly twofold - for your uncle and yourself.
The ending is superb. May I ask whether you might have meant -
'Did you expect me to follow you
there
as well?'
'here' seems to indicate that 'death' is shared. I could be wrong. It's just a thought.
I don't know why others have not commented on such an excellent piece of work. Perhaps they don't like that you have not identified yourself in any way.