We are so close to the end of this and I am constantly surprised that I have managed to make it all the way through the month. Today's prompt is simple; write about a death. It could be how it effects you, the dying itself or even a scene at a funeral. As we are in the dying days of the challenge, it seems entirely appropriate to have a poem focussed on death. With that said, here we go.
Fall
The sun plays hide and seek while an old woman sits on her balcony and lights her last cigarette. Ashtray overflowing, some embers still emitting curlicues of smoke. Inside the apartment, the plants are dying. Sat in the corner, rotting beside the grandfather clock that stopped ticking time away a few years ago. She doesn’t bother planning ahead - won’t even buy green bananas - she just sits and smokes, stares at the sky and waits.
The small patches of sky turn purple as the sun sulks off, fed up
with its game. The nights are getting colder. Drawing in earlier. She stays sat
outside. The burned-out cigarette hangs limply between cyanotic fingers. Her
body slumps in the old deckchair she bought for her second husband. Across the
road, the first leaves drop from an old oak tree.
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