In the End
I’m not sure
What the hell
You were doing
In the end;
You rented a carriage house—
A shed actually,
Behind the main house.
Your quarters kept
Getting smaller
And smaller
Like a Margaret Laurence novel
Until all that was left
Was a coffin
To house you.
You know what
I’m going to say—
And I know you hate it
But facts are facts,
A truth you can’t
Evade
And the facts state:
Grief sometimes
Comes and stays…
But emptiness
Always remains.
