Posted in Poems

There is no manual


You saw your son.
But he is gone.
So too your husband.
Yet, you saw him too.

To see the dead.
Is this normal?
The dead visiting.

There’s your mood swings.
From anger to docile.
Total silence to crying.
Being stubborn; then apologetic.

Your screams I dread.
This is the worst.
Charlotte! Nell! Help!
Sisters long since… gone.

How do I cope?
There is no manual.
Each day I brace myself.
What will the morning bring?

By C.E. Pereira