Category: Death & Afterlife
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meditation on dying
before the rain before you settle in for the night you walk familiar streets admire mowed lawns limbs trimmed stacked along curbs waiting for the city to haul away _____ sweaty shirt sticks to back and belly trees touch arching green over quiet streets silence thrums just before cicadas roar _____ kudzu pulls roof and…
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On hearing of my uncle’s death
footprints lead through dust in yard angel print arch trail ends hawk in dead pine ascend unexpectedly upward 8-23-20
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Time shifter
In the back aisle of the grocery I saw you from behind Long stride, hunched shoulders shaggy dark hair _____ I followed to be sure it was you Near the checkout you turned Sad, kind, thoughtful eyes You smiled as you looked away _____ It’s been a couple of years since The night they found…
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On a page heavy
“I lead her, a / child waking up / from a nightmare, / dazed by light” Lyn Lifshin, poet ==================================== Where have you been all my life, Lyn Lifshin Why don’t I remember reading your poetry until today I must have missed the invitation to your dying ‘The Sun’ published a tribute this month nine…
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Lament #17
I read cicadas will be plentiful this summer Returning from long quarantine underground I miss the high descant keening above tree frog choruses I miss life begging come sit with me before we die I miss the closeness of being alive 6-19-20
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rapture
following a night of rain lichen blossom on fallen trees sides of oak glow blue-green mycelium reawaken throw spores ecstatically in the air mushrooms rise up in the woods moss puts on green robes hold chloroplasts in the air dance their resurrection in my yard I breathe in holiness sanctified, redeemed awaiting my decay 6-11-20
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for Marie
Marie lived in the big house she was born in. She had a baby grand in the parlor and cookies in the kitchen. She was my mother’s friend. She was the pianist for the Masonic hall. She told me I had a good voice. There was a picture on her mantle, of a young woman…
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for Dan
I don’t know why but tonight I wondered what became of your ashes after the state paid for your cremation Is there a field made holy where the indigent recline with last years leaves? I am waiting for Siri to call out from my GPS “Your destination is on the right” so I can speak…
My husband's poetry 