remembering Carol

and in her twenty-second year
she would conclude
there was just too much
sadness in her life,
that things had quietly
gone wrong and hopelessly
so out of hand,
so she'd decide to act
and take control of what
was left for her to take.

and I remember standing silently
in numb surprise
with many others in
assembly by the dirt
that fell like tears
upon the casket drizzling rain
and wondering
should I succumb to guilt,
or was there really nothing
that a friend here could have done?

[and who'll pick up the pieces,
who would try,
who will remember,
who'll lament
a fawn's cry 
all alone -
if no one heard her
did she make a sound?]

and still I am afraid
of darkness, so I'll wonder which
of us is more determined or
courageous than
i would be in her place,
or why she left
us here to stare
at one another and
the empty branches and
we here
will never know…


© Jonathan Bohrn (1997)