the carrying

we speak of death
in whispers. small cups of
breath
leaving our mouths,
our lungs,
our hearts. we possessed
learned
sadness.
the culture of being somber
in its face
becomes us.
death is near, death is far.
we reach
into a place
where we love
and fear their departure,
whether surprised,
or not.
father, mother.
son
or daughter.
friends.
they never leave us, or
us them.
the weight is there.
the memory
imbedded. attached.
but
we become more somehow
with their absence.
our souls expand,
carrying, taking
them with us
into the day,
down into the night.