Samstag, 17. Februar 2024

Tennessee starts at the Piggly Wiggly


Four years

After they buried him

So did we

Three hours south

From us

One hour 

Into Alabama. 

Beloved son

Says the granite stone

Children shouldn’t die before their parents 

Says my husband. 

We are lost

In grief and lost chances 

Words not uttered

Days not lived. 

When we leave the stone in the grass

And the son underneath 

Headed north, we are musing

About the state we are in

Until we see:

Tennessee starts at the Piggly Wiggly

© beatrix brockman

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