“Tony” by Hanadi Flaih
The sound of bells echoed throughout the now silent town.
The room smelled of burning incense and fire,
and the moonlight reflected in eyes
filled with puddles of bitter water.
Knuckles turned white gripping prayer cards,
and a cold body lay front and center near the altar.
The only sound in the room
was the heartbroken mother —
the mother who knew
if she had only seen the signs,
his laugh would still be ringing in her ears.
The room filled with guilt as we asked ourselves,
“Why did we ignore the sorrowful eyes?”
The big house now empty,
filled with memories that no longer held meaning.
His jacket still hung where he left it,
holding the shape of someone
who would never return.
A room now empty,
where he lay in his final moments, alone.
His phone buzzed beside him,
begging for answers.
The dinner table is now set for two.
The light still on in his room,
but no one was there to see him fading.
Why didn’t we see the signs?