Bloody Beard

A poem where I try to process my father's passing last March

Bloody Beard


Bloody beard, bloody beard
Bloody beard in a plain black bag
A plain black bag on a plain gray cart
A plain gray cart pushed by two men in black


Bloody beard, bloody beard
That's what stuck out the most
When the plain black bag opened
To reveal the body of my dad


Bloody beard, bloody beard
Cold and crusted, and still
The color was gone from everywhere
Except for his bloody, bloody beard


How, why, when, what did it matter?
when all that I know bleeds out
from a fresh cut that oozed the same red
that bloomed and wilted in his beard


Bloody beard, bloody beard
almost a year gone, but the red remains
the cruel and clawing stain
left behind after my father passed away.