POEM

The phone began a ringing In the shadowy morning light Deep in my throat I knew something terrible Was in sight Sit yourself down And try to be calm You dear friend Ruthie killed last night Is gone I put the phone down And fell to the floor Thinking of her body Not yet cold at the morgue Heard friendly voices But could not see The last I remember Was their hands over me Rising …

…stomach lurch As they lowered her down A chocked moan escaped As over the grave we poured fists of fresh ground And as the pieces of her made their way down The reporters swarmed like flies on a hound Tell us of Ruthie What was she like Nothing I though to say could make it right I tried to put words together But none would come out How can you explain what beauty is about