Grandpa, brother








We beleaguered grievers in slant-rhyming sunlight
Witness him gingerly walk to the casket,
Pause, and then 
lower his head to bestow on
The smooth polished surface 
an uncertain kiss,
Turn on his heel on the
 astroturf furled round the
Edge of the grave for a
 time such as this,
Eyes cast down,
 and then forward, stride off with purposiveness;
We, we just stand there — has it come to this?

And all is entrapped by our 
tears made of amber,
Fallen insistently,
 glazing the time—
Darkening glasses absconding 
the bitterness
Trapped in the corners of ever-dry eyes.
Immanence, then, here and
 now with transcendence,
Transfigured by promises 
made without law,
Curbs and rebukes us,
 now and hereafter,
Gathers us into each
 other’s sore arms.

We ache, for we know 
that again we will gather
As entropy 
rhythmically winnows the bones
Of every, each one of us,
 drawing us down,
Dusty quintessences
 in our departures,
Absented breath 
in penultimate throes.
Numbness of grief; the weight of privation—
We fear such, we know 
that the living will fail
To mourn us as even 
our failure now shows.

Yet here 
in unknowing, hearts’ borrowed reasons
Deracinate reason will ever not know
and bestow consubstantial 
A blessed exchange of His peace for our woe.
Terms of endearment in time of bereavement
A lack of adherence 
to anything high,
May yet stir, even in an abashed sea of hopelessness,
recrudescence of believings-past.











  1. I remember well . I’m still considering some of this, but I do like it.

  2. This is beautiful, Trent. Sorrowful, but with a little hope at the end. It’s very touching.

    *ahem* I had to look up “recrudescence.”

  3. “As entropy 
rhythmically winnows the bones”
    I don’t know a finer line.

Comments are closed.