Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2015
build a chapel
with her bedroom’s burnt floor
and mourn every February
for her.

I can see the shadow
from her window
reflecting in your eyes and
the matches she lit
in your therapy.

has the ash on her body
from that night
come off your fingers yet?

I will continue to shed skin
until I remind you
nothing of her.
context: my father is a firefighter, and the heartbreak that first responders face affects families.
sabrina paesler
Written by
sabrina paesler  canada
Please log in to view and add comments on poems