Phoebe G. Lifton / Global College
“Bereavement”
Standing on ancient stones,
she spits bubbles into
an easy Greek breeze.
Her sticky pointer jabbing
recklessly into the air.
How quickly those precious
bubbles pop.
She’s not a sloppy concoction.
Her moon bright eyes
moon dark hair
crescent.
She monsoons her adoring father,
screaming until
they meet in his arms.
Pats pancake hands
on sprouted white hair
and off black shirt collar
hangs.
Mona, you’re aging slower than your father.
He’s an open fleshy human,
he will die and
it is him she will eclipse.