Family – Page 15 – Iron Haiku

nestled in the snow
a single long stemmed red rose
rests on your headstone
–
cold rain-
in the gutter
a bouquet of roses

any hope of sleep
spurned by the approaching dawn
and a snoring dog
–
sleeping dogs-
the violent death
of a cardboard box

white breath and mittens-
on the pond shaved ice gathers
the sounds of laughter
–
heavy blankets-
the sound
of falling snow

in my father’s chair
still unprepared to carry
this heavy burden
–
fallen acorns-
my little feet
in your shoes

my bed, no respite
dark lonely hours renege on
the promise of sleep
–
flannel sheets-
the rhythm
of your breath

each time you leave me
it gets a little harder
to let you back in
–
terra cotta-
under the pot
the door key

hug your children tight
for tonight there are parents
who won’t get that chance
–
barren trees-
young branches
devoid of leaves

the sliding doors shut
as the train pulls away I’m
still on the platform
–
changing winds-
the last robin
takes wing

over chips and drinks
the sounds of friendship filter
through my old screen door
–
dark windows-
piles of chips
shufflled cards

walking on eggshells
at the door I stop and turn-
you’re watching me leave
–
predawn-
hard and cold
the bedroom floor