I was at the grave of my late wife during the period of Qing Ming, to clean her grave and give offerings. I touched her portrait on the marble. She is lovely. She is.
when she was reduced to ashes
to see her reduced to ashes
in a furnace
i am powerless
and nothing i can do
but to give a
lonely
weak wave
and every fervent talk of
life and death
is meaningless
for the night before
she was just a slab
of meat
in a casket
and to think
we used to talk
and laugh
about our small universe
and to
caress and care
every night
before we sleep.
03/04/2016
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same-day publication at my main blog, urban poems.
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ), 2016
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