Absolution in Sound
My #25 for National Poetry Month
death found you
on a Saturday
in the snick
and whoosh
of air
pumped into lungs
that could no longer
pull in.
there was a conspicuous absence of black.
hospital whites
across neutral walls
you tried to speak
to say the things that must be said
before death pulled you away.
there would be no more words,
only the snick of the machine
breathing for you
as you sought absolution
before the silence.
copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2015