Omen Day 8


Some pass before us through the portal space

Leaving others on the other side place.

Call it curtain. Call it porous door.

But we will not see what’s loved anymore.

Our mother laboured to deliver us.

Labour’s also death’s midwife accomplice.

Yet we stand suspended at world’s end edge

Using rites to make our final pledges.

The curtain closes. We step back once more.

No longer hanging by the lintel door.

Copyright 2019 Bee Smith

Featured photo of author by Jane Gilgun

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