Dressing For My Father’s Funeral

Dressing For My Father’s Funeral

I held the black camisole up

and a tear fell from somewhere –

a diamond on the edge

of a ray of light.

I buried my face in the blackness

of the lace at the neck of the camisole.

At the neck, too narrow

to hold anything

important anymore.

I let it go.

It came back as a river.

All the memories.

He said, “You and me kid,

we’re from the same club.

The Broken Hearts Club.”

He said, “You and me kid.”

He said, “You and me.”

©Julie Eger

I went to a funeral today. He was the father of my best friend.


The Fox

I don’t enter writing contests very often, but I did enter this one. Here is the link to a writing site I liked. I followed the suggestions and actually was a runner-up, placing in one of the top three categories in the contest. I didn’t win the grand prize, but still…!

(This story has not been published as it is under consideration for another publication at this time.)