N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 1
ANGELA EWARD-MANGIONE
Rotting Father
1
"Father is rotting!" I
shrieked, leaping out
of bed spasmodically;
scarcely clothed - running down
empty streets at noon
Only a white cotton
nightgown lay between
dad's ashes and
me; the sun beating
down,
inside the empty graveyard.
2
No destination in mind.
Just laughing,
with red daffodils
under the bright yellow moon.
3
Looking through the window
I see people come and
go through the white room.
Many laugh and sing;
some cry and grieve
in the white room's
red chair.
4
Leaping from a stony gray ledge
into the Himalayan mountain range
I thought to ask
for salvation.