Unspoken Grief
It was a hot August night,
nothing seemed right,
his face was tight,
and his eyes,
hard with restrained emotion,
in that instant of dark silence
he felt an odd motion,
then the fears,
as the smell of death
lingered on the stairs,
the chill would start at the bone,
as he willed his face
to turn to salt or stone,
paramedics were carrying
a stretcher up to his floor,
he just watched,
as he stood by the door,
in wrenching disbelief,
unspoken grief,
the frustration,
turned into devastation,
his wife clutching at the door,
to keep from falling to the floor,
white knuckles, her knees buckles,
he spoke, but nothing was heard,
they ignored him as if he had not
said a word,
then his wife would scream and shout,
and that’s when he realized,
that it was his body,
that they were carrying out.
© 2012 Frank Atanacio