It’s D-Day in the common heart.
The Day of the Dead sidling up to the fountain
counter for chocolate cherry sodas.
Your long-gone love working to fill you up
to your dark soul’s brim, brittle skeleton
to nibble while you're ticking off your lost
family's poor souls whose blood poured through laced
fingers staining under the nails Lava
Soap don’t reach, dawn arriving with a flash,
a little zig-zag burning the heart out.
No wonder undertakers rule you off-limits.
Little surprise the girl you loved was gone
early on. It’s still D-Day in the heart,
nothing in common but a common grave.
(6 November 2012)
copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander