NaPoWriMo 2019, Day 21

Today's prompt is to write a poem that used surreal imagery and dream logic.  I don't know how successful this is, but here it what I came up with.

Cold Easter

In the last days of winter

you emerged from your coma

for an instant,

opened one eye,

looked at our mother,

and stopped breathing.

Snowflakes spotted

the priest's black coat

as he stood by your grave

and said final prayers

before a crow

carried your spirit

away.

We had a cold Easter that year.

Mother lies in bed,

face buried in her hands.

The world around her

does not exist.

Her hair and skin

are as white as

the corridors of death.

I am mindful

of the birds 

coming and going

outside the window.

I have not seen a crow yet

but today is Easter

and it is cold. - Jeff Barnes