Now that Your Beard Has Grown Out for Good

/ Arambler

Superstition and grooming
don’t mix in graveyards.
Urn selection can be a fun activity
for two—no more. Decisions
made during grief
break over our heads
as lightning on a warm October night.
A thunderous silence
leaves me counting
to digits even you
hadn’t planned to touch.

2 thoughts on “Now that Your Beard Has Grown Out for Good”

  1. This poem comes together so beautifully-atmospheric, cohesive, just-right mix of same and different–solemn and strangely refreshing at the same time. Lovely, Amy.

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