I gathered a bottle of roses
and wore a rayon red dress
and sat in the oldest cemetery I could find
brown leaves twirled
descending in single file
and flew around stone angels
like gifts from 3 billion meteorites
I couldn’t see in the cloud covered sky
a dog barked in the distance
I had nothing to mourn
during the tornado gray silence
only old poems to read
what about those pages?
emily dickinson is dead, isn’t she?
the moon came out
my hand rested on the clock
Copyright © 2018 by Susan Melinda Dunlap.