DoveSoup Art

Grief funerals, clumsy beautiful, heart wrenching. no one knows where to stand, sit or look, faces that cannot cry anymore  faces that can't yet remember the truth of a smile. someone once loved, respected, honored and cherished and no one knows how to fill the gap.

Dead-heading, the saddest of all garden commissions. A faded bloom A necessary evil, A tiny death falls into my palm. I'm sorry, apology whispered. Only able to do so many before I must escape. I sit on the deck, smoking. I smoke a cigarette, rocking and chide myself for the grief that like a thorn burrows in my chest. ©Dove Cochrane