“Here be Dragons” by David Tomaloff
DEARLY DEPARTED DADDY LONGLEGS
All those funerals we held for wasps
butterflies and spiders
in the garden planting crosses
made of twigs into the earth.
Solemn as churches
the three of us, singing or
chanting some song made up
to mourn their passing.
We’re older now and loss
is something very different.
Black clothes and lowered coffins
hushed voices, airless rooms.
Our repertoire of ghosts
just keeps on growing.
Long gone the innocence
of green garden insect graves
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