Elegy

For my grandfather.

There is no form to sorrow,
nor rhyme nor language
for your comfort now. We too
are as silent as your sleep,
no words dropping from our lips
to catch our tears.

By the bed, a radio sits
hissing like the range, its
susurration only broken by the clock.
Your slippers are cooling.

Strong in mind, and formerly in body;
now your legacy, as we gather
that strength you give us: to remember,
as we grieve for the time
with you we’ve lost, all
time with you we’ve loved.

Regular updates next week.