In Memory

“What about cups?”

How can we be talking about cups?

“I’ll bring them, and napkins.”

She looks perfectly normal.

 

“And do we have tablecloths?”

Her eyes are red.

“We can get some.”

I wonder if she can sleep.

 

“I was thinking lemonade.”

I realize it’s only been one night.

“Let’s keep it simple. Water is good.”

One night. Alone.

 

“How many people do you think?”

How many people does it take to remember?

“Over a hundred, I’m sure. Two, maybe.”

Will she even remember the day?

 
“I want everyone to wear blue.”

I nod.

“It was his favorite color.”

I nod again, wonder if my blue shirt is clean.

 

“It will be nice,” I say.

“Yes.” She nods. “It will be nice.”

Her face crumbles, like a stone cliff cracking, collapsing,

Sliding down into rubble.

 

Beyond This Place

Beyond This Place

I had this conversation, which became a poem, yesterday; it is my offering to the WordPress Weekly Challenge on using dialogue. I offer it in memory of Mark.

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