New Poetry and Pastel by Wayne H. W Wolfson

Summer’s Funeral (for Lady Ahna)

We were in October but now is the time. Keep glasses in the ice box as the rain maker won’t come.

All day the sun had been out, so much so that I felt it licking my scalp as I took my walk. I could keep the windows in my studio open allowing bugs to get in so that the cat could hunt.

At night the heat refused to flee with the light. The black dress with its pattern of red flowers laying across the back of the one chair without a trick leg, I wash my hands, still wet, I flick them at the sink three times.

The air is still warm, as if she has just left, her breath on my neck late at night after every vow has been met and broken.

I shut all the lights, let the stars spell out her name.

I want music, something blue. There should be music for summer’s funeral.


- Wayne H. W Wolfson 2008