After “The funeral of the moon” by David Shumate
They were all in attendance. The sun. Wind. A cloud. They came to console mountain who lost his child, pebble. Moon arrived late and met up with the rest in the bar afterward. It was a stellar funeral, said sun. It was a blast, said wind. I cried a downpour, said cloud. How sad that a piece of you is gone forever, mountain. After this announcement, another raindrop welled in cloud’s eye and fell in his beer. What a loss, said moon to mountain. Your lovely daughter had a natural fluorescence I could see from heaven. I’ll miss her, said mountain, She was a rock of strength, I’ll never be the same. So sad, said sun, Did you see me cover my eyes when they lowered pebble into the water? I couldn’t bear to look. Pebble to pebble, sand to sand, moon prayed. Wind added some philosophy, We’ll all be ground down by the sands of time, time is all we’ve got. And mountain rejoined, Yes, soon enough I’ll be with my pebble, grains of sand on the bottom of the sea. And they all gave a collective sigh and sipped more beer.
Ingrid Bruck is a wild flower gardener and nature poet living in rural Amish country in Pennsylvania, a landscape that inhabits her writing. Some of her current work has appeared in Halcyon Days, Three Line Poetry, and Leaves of Ink.