After the Benediction

by The Hearth Voice

Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.

Downstairs, foil lifts from macaroni, greens, beans cooked since morning. Someone insists I take a plate. Someone else tells the story about your borrowed lawn mower and the summer it never came back. Laughter enters carefully, then finds its chair. At the repast, we feed the living with the recipes you knew, and speak your name without lowering our voices.
60 words · 14 lines · Free Verse
Black funeralrepastfoodremembranceenumerationpersonificationcontrastfree-verse

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