Why doesn’t it

My father passed on Easter Sunday. While I’ve found some solace through writing, there’s just that feeling of wondering why the world goes on when yours has stopped.

I wrote this poem to try to express how I feel. Hopefully it will help those also grieving in this time of pandemic.

Why doesn’t the whole world just
Don’t they know his smile is
Don’t they know that the light of
his sun has dipped
below the
That his laugh is missing in action,
never to answer the roll call of a
Thurber cartoon or old family
joke, festooned with ancient
Don’t they know that his pain
of searching and seeking and
never finding
is over?
But fathers die every day and worlds
do not stop spinning on
their axes for mere
mortals no matter how
bright their eyes when their
rough but gentle hands
bury a seed into the soil
and form new

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