.
.
Coffin covered with newly upturned earth
Contains that last of all she’s ever loved
She starts to pull rose petals from their stems
She’s aiming them to land within a shape 
Patterning pictures only she can see
Patching a tribute for lives cut away
Eyes blur with each crimson petal that falls
Upon the sodden ashes of her youth

Her life, based on the scope of others, bound 
Daughter-wife-mother; thus have been her days
Her own deep needs followed for the first time 
She finds the sudden freedom much too bold 
She watches the last petal land with grace
Then heads out to live a life on her own

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National Poetry Month – Day 12