Poems by Donna Faulkner

A first mourning.
Protocols veil
customary expectations.

A   single   tear —
grief’s initiation.
Navigating unfamiliar exequies.
The tear that
dammed an avalanche
somehow yielded.

I imagined that
I had witnessed the
      tear
          drop’s
formation.

Its
             ———stretching ———membrane
straining to contain
the world.
Swollen heavy with the burden
of what was expected.

A draughty church,
stale and
cold with duty.

And my father in the aisle —
                                    carrying his own.

A solitary tear —
resting visible on his cheek,
his sadness surrendered.

                                                    One
                                                    single
                                                    tear.

Private grief witnessed
on public display
from the second row
where I stood stiff
behind hard pews.
Senses assaulted
by hollow hymns
echoing
the peculiar dust and draft
of occasional religion.

I sought reprieve
complying for respite
these structured rites.
Saturated by eulogies and prayers.
My father’s tear
doused such childish expectations.

I broke protocol,
weeping countless tears —
                          as the mantle passed to him.