It’s hard to dab her waxen cheeks.
Sockets fill with sea; digits tremble.
When daffodils last bloomed,
her face wore roses. Fresh endorsed
for necromancy that brought
solace to sobbing left-behinders.
“Keeping you safe, daddy,”
she’d insisted as she imbued
another covid corpse.
Image: “Funeral” by Dondavid
De Jackson is today’s host for dVerse‘ Quadrille Monday. De says:
Write a poem of exactly 44 words, including some form of the word dab. Make up a form of the word if you like, just be sure it’s in there, and that your poem adds up to exactly 44 words not including the title.