There are people gathered in a circle
of sorts.
There are people whom I know
and maybe knew.
They might have visions of what could have been done differently
but the result is
already known.

The color black bathes the palette of attire and
there are a few dry eyes.
The wind is blowing and there are few splashing waves in the background
humming and singing to nature’s rhythm.

There are some young people.
Too young to truly know.
Old enough to figure most of it out.
The sun is setting and the colors in the sky are meshing into a dark red.
The two figures who created me
approach the casket with weight
on their shoulders
and on their conscience.

‘Sorry’
I want to mutter
but my heart does not need
consoling
nor does it seek
forgiveness.

Cars are parked in the lot.
Some are parked on the sand.
Their owners have no concept of the rules
when their child no longer
has the opportunity to break them.

The sun is kissing the horizon as it settles itself.
Preparing to wake up another group of individuals.
The waves are kissing the shore one last time
before the end of the day arrives.

My parents were never settled.
Their story is contingent
on the uneasiness
of the shores
that got them here.

He would make out with her
like she was a piece of property
waiting for its tenants to get evicted.

His tongue would always travel so far deep down her throat
that I started to believe
that it was normal
to hate the taste of lips.

His hands would caress her body
as if he were trying to decode
the inner workings
of a stubborn alarm clock
that wouldn’t shut off.

She would continue to believe that she was happy
and he would continue to think
that it was because of him.

How wrong they both were.
The status of their existence
realized through the eyes of a child
who is now no longer here.