Rows And Names

Four ducks in a row, sitting in quiet observance
of the flowing river shift nervously at our approach
on this snowy, dark Easter Sunday morning.

Annoyed at our intrusion, one by one they slip
quietly into the water, breeze ruffling their
feathers, orange feet paddling them to safety.

Headlights appear, three cars in a row, a
solemn procession down these empty streets.
Sacrificing what, I wonder, to be out here?

Sophie, my dog discovering a smell irresistible,
flops down, wriggling on the ground, feet in the air
in raptured bliss at the joy she has found.

Several trees in a row, gravestone gray bark with
tiny buds fighting for survival under bleak
Spring skies, branches collecting snow.

A walker appears, thin jacket, no hat, sacrificing
warmth and who knows what else to be here, to
be going, who knows where?

At home after, I remember friends who have died,
from drug abuse, cancer, and self inflicted
gun shot wounds. I remember their names.

It is important to say their names. Out loud.

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