Burial

The morning is a bitter cold

of the fall. Gloomy clouds

block out the sun. I am at

the place where no one is happy.


A raised steeple comes into view.

It is the chapel for my dead. Flowers

and Chinese characters dress

barren walls. Everyone is in black.


In my dark dress, I speak

love in memory of my dead kin. I painfully

watch my callous cousins while holding back

tears, knowing that they never cared.


As the rain falls, I place my white roses

on a light blue coffin. It is slowly

lowered into the empty ground. Soil swallows

the lifeless casket. The burial ends.


The morning is a bitter cold

of the fall. Gloomy clouds

block out the sun. I am at the

place where no one is happy.