There's an African Proverb.
'When a man dies, a library burns down.'
Somehow unfastened, reminded of the specifics-
-A dowager in stripes, distended with child,
Maureen in her magenta blazer,
The mourners chuckling.
-The middle school across the way,
So many, so much youth
Unsuspecting or already spoiled.
The glue on his lips choked back some vindication.
The gloss, pink cherry smacking
On swollen lips stuck
Forgiveness to the front of the teeth.
Great men die every day.
The world mourns their memories,
Cherished like the words from a book.
Losing him is not even a typo in the words on a page.
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