Tag: Grief

  • Mom (for Bethany)

    Mom (for Bethany)

    She was the best mom.

    In hard times, she’d put a Bible under my pillow

    so words of comfort mingled with my dreams.

    (Fear not, for I bring you tidings of great joy.)

     

    She never let a stranger-child go hungry,

    even with that big farm, big family –

    drove my father nuts!

    It’s a KID, she’d say. 

    That was that.

     

    FEWalls

  • Shrine for Don

    Paris Two 2010 054Crowned

    “king of the gods” in high school,

    caped with scepter in hand, a gentle smile,

    the basketball star in our tiny world,

    at 21, a lieutenant in Vietnam.

    Bombs

    fell on the green villages

    perimeters strafed and over-run

    maimed bodies,

    youth,

    sanity,

    all sacked up together like shades of rice

    before the boiling pot.

    Carved

    your name

    on marble,

    held in place

    by those who died before

    and after you,

    carved on black

    marble reflecting back the twisted mouths

    holding grief high and tight,

    hands offering medals,

    roses,

    poems

    to names on a wailing wall.

     

    FEWalls

  • At the Nursing Home

    Paris Two 2010 055As I walk in,

    a woman straightens the chair on the patio outside her room.

    Her Easter lily, parched, sits untended, one bloom left.

    As I pass she says, I’m nuts, and blows me kisses,

    her fingers touching her lips and the empty space between us.

     

    One aide plays “string the pearls” with five women,

    then plays “follow the leader”

    and leads them off for rest time.

    Each woman has a place at the table

    and a room of her own.

     

    In one room, ceramic dolls

    in elegant kimonos bow

    in a silent dance.

     

    Into Louise’s room walks a stranger

    saying, where’s my false teeth,

    sure she left them here.

     

    The rhodies by Louise’s window

    at the peak of their exuberance

    bloom red and sturdy, as if

    they will never droop

    or leave the walkway carpeted with softness.

     

    An aide comes to her room,

    hands white with rubber gloves.

    She puts her arm around Louise,

    turns her away from me, and chats about the weather

    as I slip away.

     

    I was never there.

     

    FEWalls

  • Departure

    IMG_0851

    His scent lingers

    near his bedroom door,

    I sniff the air –

    a startled deer –

    then feel his absence

    in the molted room.

  • Denial

    IMG_0297_1That slip of the mind

    That momentary disengagement

    Like the clutch in the old Dodge

     

    I think: I have to get a message to her

    Then: how can I get a message to her

    As if it were a problem I could puzzle out and solve

     

    Then I remember.

    All this in a heartbeat

     

     

    FEWalls