Butterfly Effect - ressourcesfeministes

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—I stand halfway between tears
and stony dry eyes.
You, my brother— and I are
empty handed— soft fear swirls
between us— the companionship
of childhood made solitary on
this day.
I wonder— what next —and
shift my shoulders over my feet.
You, my brother— turn your
head— our aunt's hand nudges a
whisper.
I step forward— as if in a
dream— to the other side of the
grave where so many bouquets
and wreaths lie.
No one passes me flowers—
I move slowly to where the
flowers are strewn and look and
look— for the right flower.