Bonnie Widerman

Stones

The frame is broken—
                                              the two of them still smiling out from behind the cracked glass,
                                                                                     this photo taken twenty years ago             before

 

my pocket full of stones          not flowers      for the fresh earth.
 

I was there when the words stopped, when his room grew quiet
                                                                                   except for the oxygen hum
            and then the stillness:
                                                    a jagged edge torn through for days.


There were none of the regular goodbyes.  Just ten of us
                                                                                           spread across a field—
      tenfold less than there would have been 
                                                                                      if we hadn’t felt so exposed,
                                                                                                                                                  and quieter 

 

still,                     nothing will grow here until spring 
                                                                          so this is where I leave him
                                                                                                                                  them 
                                                                                                                                                    myself
                       with some small consolation: they are together.

 

Only sky marks this place for now           wide                 like mapping an ocean.
 

I will return next year when grass covers these hills   and the raw    
                                                                                                                                is gone,
with more stones in my pocket    
                                                                    stones for words:                                                  I was here.

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About the Author

Bonnie Widerman enjoys helping small businesses and nonprofits develop authentic branding and express themselves through carefully crafted content. Her poetry has appeared in The Ear, Ladybug Magazine and Fandangle. Bonnie stays inspired through genealogy research, walks in nature, interior decorating and turtle-spotting.