| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
|
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Death >> ID #994394 |
| |||||||||||||
|
The sound of lavender
Lavender was his favorite color and the color of his bedroom he could not see since he went blind at twenty, fifty years ago. Once he played the saxophone, played piano too, and bowled. Bowled great, they say, the day he died alone. It was days before they found him. We buried him in November, sent him home. Who now plays his saxophone? Do the notes spill forth in lavender? © Kåre Enga Catalogue number: [160.633] Don Brown lived at Genesee Street and Kane in Buffalo, NY, in a brown house with a lavender bedroom. He died around October 31st, 2000 (?) He was a very dear man. I read this in Tahlequah once accompanied by a harp played by Michelle Bither. It seemed fitting, even if it was emotionally hard for me to read.
© Copyright 2005 Kåre Enga i Sverige 30.mai (UN: enga at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Kåre Enga i Sverige 30.mai has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |