A Day for Dying

My man was killed yesterday—run down by a drunk driver while crossing a street.

Henry was my life. Henry was my everything.

He was a long way from home when he died. He should have been here with me, not out chasing money.

It was me that drove him off. I was always going on about how I wanted this and how I wanted that. Now all I want is my Henry back.

It don’t seem right that I’m here and he ain’t.

I think I’ll go to him.

The mountain ain’t that high. I can be up on top by sunset.

I’m wearin’ my wedding dress. Henry always said how pretty I looked the day we was pledged to one another. How my hair trapped the sunlight, how my eyes laughed, how he became weak in the knees as he stood next to me before the preacher. How much he loved me.

As I climb the mountain, I smile. I’m thinking on my Henry. I’m thinking of the time we was kids and went swimming down at old man Ives’ watering hole. It was the first time Henry ever did kiss me.

The sun’s going down; the clouds are orange and pink with purple ’round the edges.

I’m now up on the ridge.

Henry always said I didn’t have a lick of sense. I reckon I don’t.

I loved you so much, Henry, and I am so sorry for my evil ways.

It’s a long way down, but when I get there, I’ll be with my Henry.



15 thoughts on “A Day for Dying

  1. Emotional prose that is difficult for me to read since I lost my wife by suicide in 1981. There was a time during my early grief; I also wanted to kill myself. It wasn’t to join her, but to end the pain.
    I am in awe at your writing talent, and there seems to be no subject you are unable or unwilling to write about. What is more impressive, you bring out the emotions for the reader to experience. Thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I gotta say, you’ve had one hell of a life. That’s why I respect you so much. And that’s what makes you one hell of a fuckin’ great writer. You lived the life … I just make shit up. I’m ashamed to stand next to you and call myself a writer.

      Liked by 1 person

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