There were no flowers or cards of condolence yet there was a death, a death of us. No handshakes, no wake or funeral service just a fear that it may be contagious. I didn’t see it that way at the time but you likened the situation to death. Whereas I was suffocating with a need to be free, whilst you envied the sympathy for a neighbour’s last breath
I can now see that our union was a birth, a joining of sorts where two become one. Independence may have kept us together to compliment, not complete: we were too young. Black’s not my colour so I did not mourn openly, I dressed up but I did cry inside. I wore independence like a warrior’s shield, protecting this land where failure resides.
Yes, we died, we buried the remains in new lives. Now, that time, we carefully resist but no matter how deep the grave we dig the bones of our past can be found to exist.
Karen’s work has been published in USA and UK by The Society of Classical Poets, Vox Poetica, Poems for All, Hedgehog Poetry Press, Poetry 24 and I am not a silent poet. She has also self- published her work to support various charities. Read more at www.observationsinrhyme.com