There are some things that are just too sad to write stories about and so I write Haiku.
Scored in syllables
Sharp shards of sorrow spill out
solaced by sharing.
One of these is the auction of of my parents’ possessions, relics of my past. The setting was ironic ~ an old school, and the weather was in tune with my feelings ~ the heavens hurling their hurt on the deserted playground.
The timing could not have been worse, viewing on what would have been my father’s 89th birthday. There is no happy ending here, a family stripped of its history under a hammer, and the grieving just goes deeper.