I remember as thought it were today, the morning we moved to Cedar Rapids. The funeral day was clear and dry: a frosty autumn morning. My mother was crying.
Behind my closed, damp eyelids, I faced a terrible, inexplicable heartache. I wanted to forget everything we did together. We used to spin pottery, him sitting behind me, guiding my childishly clumsy fingers.
I picture vividly, to the point of tasting, the cold, dry smell of wet clay, and the chalky scrape of an unglazed *** I kept one on my desk until we got settled.
I threw it into the ravine behind the new old house when I couldn't break the frosted ground for a burial. I cried, drinking in the beauty and stillness of the grey. My breath mingled with the fog.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
I remember as thought it were today, the morning we moved to Cedar Rapids. The funeral day was clear and dry: a frosty autumn morning. My mother was crying.
Behind my closed, damp eyelids, I faced a terrible, inexplicable heartache. I wanted to forget everything we did together. We used to spin pottery, him sitting behind me, guiding my childishly clumsy fingers.
I picture vividly, to the point of tasting, the cold, dry smell of wet clay, and the chalky scrape of an unglazed *** I kept one on my desk until we got settled.
I threw it into the ravine behind the new old house when I couldn't break the frosted ground for a burial. I cried, drinking in the beauty and stillness of the grey. My breath mingled with the fog.
Request permission to use this poem