it’s quiet
still
lonely
there are no more prayers to pray
nothing to do but wait
for death, for life
for more questions
for the scent of hope
for some relief
aching for easy answers
and a happy ending
yet knowing they will never come
sitting in this new normal
the doors shut tight
for this one holy day
each year
all of the glad-handers
well-wishers
and anxious souls
who ask the question,
“So are you better?”
(which only has one possible answer)
will finally leave us alone
all of us,
waiting
for morning
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