After Your Death
Natasha Trethewey
First, I emptied the closets of your clothes,
threw out the bowl of fruit, bruised
from your touch, left empty the jars
you bought for preserves. The next morning,
birds rustled the fruit trees, and later
when I twisted a ripe fig loose from its stem,
I found it half eaten, the other side
already rotting, or—like another I plucked
and split open—being taken from the inside:
a swarm of insects hollowing it. I’m too late,
again, another space emptied by loss.
Tomorrow, the bowl I have yet to fill.
Maverick Mist 
Magical!
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Thanks Miriam. 🙂
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Happy Week Mawerick HUGS!
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Grazie Angelo. ღ Anche tu. 🙂 *Hugs*
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Wow! It starts out melancholy, but then gets worse. A real Debbie Downer. The butterflies make nice bright bookends.
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Yeah, poems about death generally aren’t too cheerful. 🙂
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This is so…sad! Brilliantly written but definitely not bedtime reading lol (It’s very late evening for me)
Your first pic is lovely as it’s so incredibly colourful hence upbeat…but I like the second one most because there’s purple in there and I like purple very much…and this pic doesn’t grab you in an obvious way like the first but…it keeps you longer. I think these thoughts say a lot about me. And now I believe I’ll shut up and go to bed 😉
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I agree with you, I thought it expressed loss brilliantly. Hopefully it doesn’t give you nightmares. The second butterfly also has a bit of a broken wing as well. I’m fond of purple too. Thank you for the lovely comment. Doux rêves. 🙂
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I’m happy to report there were no nightmares lol
Thank *you* for engaging my mind, even late at night 😉
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