My mom comes to visit the graveyard to say her prayers. The early November crowds have gone, and the solemnity has returned to the cemetery. Her lips and fingers move around the rosary beads with ease. As always, her eyes water as she sees my father's etched name on the grey plate. How each letter glitters like tiger's eyes under the dying sunset. Though she has dedicated masses and special intentions, she wonders if he is at peace at last. Is he still suffering or has he finally reunited with our Lord? Every night, she prays for a sign, message or a dream of my father's after-life journey. Over the phone, I listen to her crying and questions. I have no answers.
snowy owl hoots
behind trees & carpet of leaves-
night is silent, starless-
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Haibun Monday, hosted by Victoria Slotto. The theme is to
write about Fukuroo – the Owl. Owl is a winter kigo but you can write about any season. Please keep the prose to under 200 words.
