by Abraham de la Torre
The silence of a sad lament is shared
and, having got a little of it, shed,
allows some rest to seep into the chest
and then exhales the sound of freed torment.
Accepted as a link, we don’t forget
away from bonding we cannot accept
the bile of loneliness that company
awaits to lift and counts as answered bliss.
There is no sadness that will not be felt
when, in tumult but cracks however faint
and indistinct are heard, and then the skin
will warm its discontent and follow its
desire to thaw the misery in mirth
invited. Doesn’t matter who or whence
and even if, essentially, there seems
to be some stray concern that one is missed
because of slips the senior mind commits.
The conversation rises, soars above
the erstwhile mist of melancholy speech,
now crackles and possessed of cheerfulness.
It soars and doesn’t mind the latitudes
of ribald ribbings, accidental notes
remembered in the passing of the time
unused because of silent courtesy.
And, soaring, it will afterward alight
in reverence of fare-thee-wells and bright
expectancies of families and friends
In mutual prayers already memorized.
