Driving To Your Funeral Poem by Anisa Tara

It is the hour of turning
Deep reds and angry yellows
Are dusted from wooden spines
From the only home they have ever known
To lay at the hourglass' end
Before everything turns around
And back again

Cascading like sand
Through all the lives
It has lived through before
And will live through once more
As Time trades color for pallor

I will stay here
Driving through your hourglass
Caught in deep reds and angry yellows
Inevitably trickling
Into grains of white because
Everything will turn around
And back again
Before the sand changes hues
And changes hands
But things will never be the same
For me and you

Driving home from your funeral
The mellow reds and soft yellows
That have come full circle
Draw me into their soon spineless arms
Reminding me
That rarely are two turns of the hourglass
Ever the same for them

I will drive home today
Countries of green before me
No wilted mulch groaning under tires
To see the once red and former yellows
Bouncing to windy sails
Exactly where they are meant to be