I would never look into her eyes
and see myself reflected
Never be able to ask her if she
suffered and how it felt to come
face-to-face with death -
I wonder, now, if she has any awareness
of what has come to pass
If she could somehow let me know
what death has taught her
If she was there when my soul
flew forth and was pushed back,
so mightily. Was she one of the
ones who held my head up,
who kept her siblings calm and quiet?
“Just drive” toward light
our only drive alone
a family beginning its ending
Toward a waiting wheelchair
toward a tiny white casket under a
blanket of beautiful flowers
toward a grave I still visit on occasion,
tenderly offering this year’s flowers
since I never was able to have offered
gentle good night rituals
no breakfasts in bed or late night
secret excursions to addresses unknown,
giggling at our sillyness
no conversations about what to do, what
not to do, no big sisterly
advice for Kat or Emma or Sam
I was forty eight when I wrote this poem
still refusing to just drive…...
No comments:
Post a Comment