When your mother dies
you go there
no need to hurry
her voice turned stone
There are arrangements
to be made
coffin size or cremation
contact the living
Church folk feed us
a cube of ham falls
on my father’s tie
it looks like a tie tack
Then death parades on
a cold lament
drives past fields
into the finish
_________________________
NaPoWriMo Day 3 prompt
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