The first thing she thinks about, is what the boy is going to wear
What did he wear the last time we had a death in the family?
Maybe that grey suit that makes him look nine years older
That ash-coloured outfit waiting at the back of his closet to steal nine more
The funeral attire that enfolds his form in fabric that whispers despair
In the dark coat, the pale shirt, and the silky black vein
He becomes a vision of loss at this deathly affair
Polished black leather shoes, with symmetrical laces
On unheeled soles that tread among inconsolable faces
In the sombre sea of mourners, he’s tailored for elegiac perfection
Elegant and sleek with every thread
A symphony of decorous woe, as the silent words spread
The weight of this grief, thrown upon his untested soul
Silently adds years as the days of mourning unroll
For in those forlorn garments he stands alone at the edge of devastation
The boy becomes a reflection of chapter’s end
A mirror of life’s eventuality in a world suspended by lamentation
Yet amid the undying currents of sorrow
There’s a flicker of grace
An unexpected strength that blossoms from this cold and desolate space
In the exhausting grey hues he bravely endures and fears
A young boy finds insight far beyond all his years
In the meadows of loss he will learn and he will grow
Forever aged by the grief-engraved lessons he can never undress
And never unknow.
Note: Good news from Avbob. Contradiction, I know. My poem “In The Back of Your Closet, Waiting” was recently accepted by the Avbob poetry competition. This would be my first poetry venture, ever, and I’m lucky enough to get R300 bucks for it (just R50 short), so I’m a bit optimistic.