Believe in the Logic of a Child

Death through the eyes of a child.

Stillness is the cold man

In a box across the room.

His features sculpted in wax,

Never to move again.

Mourners footsteps beat

like his undead heart

That lives in his children. 

 

Mementos litter the adjoining rooms,

people snake through while waiting.

Photographs of a young boy

playing catch with his father

aid dulling memories.

 

“Don’t cry Mommy.”

Tiny hands rub the wood

“He’s not real.

He’s just a wax man.”