.................................
we bury our dead alive
.................................

they made a special effort at the gravesite
to open my father's coffin. and maybe
if i'd had a bottle of whiskey
to slip inside, i could have gone up to it

and said something. could have finished
the conversation
instead i stood back from it
awkward and empty handed

so now my father won't let me
have the last word
he just goes on talking. quieter and
without that whiskey

finally sober

.................................
LeeAnn Heringer
.................................

 
Copyright © LeeAnn Heringer
March 1996

...6 haiku in this room by Paul Mena...
vermillion dread
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