.dead. by Sonja Benskin Mesher



we walked on up near the copper mine , a darker place.                          got to thinking.




it comes as no suprise. often ill they die.                                   it is the way.     it is not sad.



we are sensed with  loss.                                                                                 that includes you.


he says that’s where the wind comes from,                                       to go most everywhere.




probably do not miss him.                       he was not around us much, well  not at all really.

he buggered off.   no inspiration then.                                                   yet.   he was my dad.




some day i will carry the bones inside.




2 thoughts on “.dead. by Sonja Benskin Mesher

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