Oh how it happens
Soft as a lovers touch
There you are again
Clutching her clothes
As they wheel her limp body off
Your name on her lips
An entreaty; help me
When you cannot
No act of kindness is sufficient
For suffering has its own brand of loss
We all tumble together
To a place of mystery
Where I may leave this place one day
Without her
Like being reborn, except it is death not life
We all pretend this will never happen
And I learn the art of stuffing horror
Into every spare corner
Lest it show
Lest it cry out
Lest it is me found screaming
In the empty linoleum corridor
Take your turn
At empty carousel
The paint of the horses
Gold and faded red
A feel of many wearers
In the hard seat
An I and a Thou, loving
Knowing,
If only in some secret place
It will come
That day or night
One will stand to see
The other through
That portal from which
No return can be
With nothing to send along
But two coins
For the boatman
And a blown kiss
I like the idea of blowing a kiss before going through the portal to the afterlife – the boatman in the background cleaning his coin. Very well done!
Thanks.
Thank you 🙂
Somehow, my first thanks didn’t register in my notifications, but that’s OK. A “Very well done.” from you is worth two thank you-s.