After the funeral

We rushed to your apartment
both of us
brother and sister
born from your cells
your absence burning our skin

we tossed tuna cans stale baguettes soup mixes
without thinking
trashed metro stubs travel guides unopened medical bills
without pausing
packed pants shirts tie-pins into cartons
without looking

a sign at your door read
‘moving out free stuff’
people came in packs
probed pulled picked
one man with a ‘Go Redskins’ cap
toyed with your small ivory comb
the one you kept in your car
fixed your hair with
humming a jazz tune
laughter in your eyes

we kept our heads down
trying not to remember
trying not to cry

after everybody was gone
one carton remained
empty wide-open
a womb
we climbed into it
pulled the top down tight
snuggled into one ball of agony
closed our eyes
wishing that when
we opened them
you’d be here

A former writer for children’s magazines and travel publications, Brigitte Aflalo-Calderon recently discovered the art of poetry, which has become all-consuming. A yoga instructor and artist, Brigitte was born and raised in Morocco. She now divides her time between her homes in Nîmes, France, and Princeton, NJ.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to After the funeral

  1. Pingback: Next Act for Women Becoming an Abstract Painter at 60: Brigitte’s Story - Next Act for Women

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s