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Poem: Julia Died 

Julia died.
It didn’t happen today.
Today was perfect and beautiful.

The late sunset’s light made everyone’s face glow.

Julia let the edge of the rope off
last year. Her brother carried the news.
I barely remembered him. His
and her name masked me with smoky pictures;

lying on a dusty torn sofa, smoking cheap weed
and playing chess. Espresso in the dim kitchen. A walk
along the Danube, after which we sat and watched
the city’s light float.

He smiled as he talked and I couldn’t tell
if he was embarrassed but I felt like embracing him
so I can be hugged.

In Serbia we got lost
for three days in the mountains.
David, you and me, who almost lost it
if the two of you wouldn’t held me;
feeding me water, bread and honey.

Later on we met again
on another hill.
Your tall figure showed up surprisingly
from between the low clouds.
We hugged shyly over a little fissure,
recalling distant memories
each to his own.

Then you died.
I mean, sometime between then and now;
the part of the day when clouds are plastered red
and the faces are relaxed and glowing
in the softness of the setting sun.

Speaking of...

  • Bury Me Green
  • Bury Me Green

    A new movement is bringing us back to the Earth at the end of life
    • Mar 1, 2017
  • Poem: The End

    A Poem by Sandy Wisiniewski
    • Jan 1, 2017
  • The Death Trade
  • The Death Trade

    Ann Hutton speaks with Stephen Jenkinson about dying.
    • May 1, 2016
  • More »
  • A poem by Guy Traiber.


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