Grief has a flavor…

burnt toast

(burnt everything)

and hostile aftertaste…

crushed by your departure

I’ve no appetite…

even chocolates

taste of ashes–

And mourning has

no sense of time

it resists scheduling

ignores seasons…

within heart perpetual

calendar pages turn, turn

as mourning wears a style

all its own, regardless

of fashion trend…

elaborate sighs of silk

in pale to pewter shadows gray…

that’s what you bequeathed to me–

~ Cale

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https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2026/02/07/rdp-saturday-time/

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2026/01/31/rdp-saturday-crush/

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2026/02/04/flavor/