by Andrea Laws
Questions arose in the beginning;
an unrecognizable moment
The pain hit hard enough to remain,
but left no bruise to heal from
A coffin now bestows who you are
covered in folded colors of blues and whites
A sight hard to see,
but a truth to be noticed
The touch of the wood is something that doesn’t splinter,
as I lean down yearning to hear you breathe
Accusations jumbled with memories,
and questions seem to be the only answer
What was it like to give yourself to the flames?
Is the dark all that dark?
Last updated February 18, 2016