Lots of great poems in this thread!
I noted this one in another thread. But it's a fine example of small but mighty poem. Only four lines, but they say everything--it's a gut punch of a poem. The last line, blending the onlookers' uneasiness and inability to comfort with the father's instability, insanity, fragility. He's sick, diseased. Do they fear to touch him, comfort him because he might shatter, or do they fear that by touching him the grief will spill out onto them and they will breakdown? Both I'd say.
The Sandy Hole by Jayne Kenyon
The infant's coffin is no bigger than a flightbag...
The young father steps backward from the sandy hole
eyes wide and dry, his hand over his mouth.
No one dares come near him, even to touch his sleeve.
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