Scent Of Grief Poem by Jackie Allen

I caught but a glimpse of her pale moonlike face.
She was wearing a yellow sweater with white lace.
Standing on tiptoes, peering over the edge, I
wondered, how cold was it, six feet below?

The scent of grief, a flashback milky white,
lay amongst the sweet aromatic flowers that night.
A blanket of grief wrapped itself around our home~
But why ever, always, three nights in a row?

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
I stood there on tiptoes, tried to be strong.
As confusion and disbelief held me in their arms,
I watched as Poppa placed a coin under each lid.

The air was permeated with mournful cries, trying
laughter, gossiping, silent sobbing, sighing.
Alas, the house was filled with relatives, strangers.
Did they not have homes, families of their own?

The wake was over. The truth, was indeed, a fact.
Preparations were being made to send her back
to God, closed up in a wooden box...in a box.
I couldn’t, still can’t... wrap my mind around it.