
Typewriter Series #2661 by Tyler Knott Gregson
We call them out, noticing eyes though
they cloud with tears,
the winged and floating as we look
heavenward
maybe for answers, maybe for peace.
My mother’s father became a hawk,
my father’s father grew monarch wings,
we find them still,
greet them as old friends, follow them
with gentle eyes.
Grief can be transformed,
only they don’t tell you that.
I wonder, daily, how many
butterflies and birds are flying around
Carrying the names
Of all those
we lost.
-Tyler Knott Gregson-
Published on July 10, 2019 17:15