For today’s prompt, write a guilty poem. The poem can be written from the perspective of someone who is (or feels) guilty, or it can be about someone (or something) else that’s guilty. But guilty of what? Cheating on a test? Or a spouse? Or a diet? Only you know, and only your poem can reveal the truth.
Heavy Burden
I wasn't there when you
died.
Couldn't face it.
I wish I had, now,
but fifteen was an
impressionable age
and my last memory of
you
is you lying on the
floor in the recovery position,
my sisters copy of
First Aid at Work
open at the relevant
page.
I remember her
tear-stained face,
your red hair obscuring
yours,
the nylon housecoat
over your dress.
I waited at the bottom
of the drive for the ambulance,
my father's panic as he
pulled in past me,
the kindness of the
paramedic.
It was a Friday
and I'd bought you a
gift home from school;
a woodwork project I'd
spent three months on.
I didn't visit the
hospital,
didn't see you
comatose, stuffed full of tubes.
I knew you were dead in
all but name
even if it wasn't until
the following Tuesday
(when I had my first O
level exam)
that Dad gave consent
for the machines to turn off.
I wasn't there when you
died.
Couldn't face it.
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