What is dead? What is alive?

Did the pomegranate die? Yet not, when snow burned

its tropical bark to husk, still Summer entreats and buds

burst forth, unapologetic in rejecting funeral.

Did the bird who flew into my window, stunned and flailing

in throws of dark, submerge and phoenixesque reborn?

To defy the cat who hankers for her flesh with precise

stalk, undetected in blackberry foliage?

What is dead? What is alive?

Your father, her sister, their mother, slipping

to the other side, where we yearn to know

what lies beyond. Behind the veil, where will

love reside when you must leave?

I do not feel your presence here anymore

it is as if you were and then you were not

a slipping from one world to another remote

yet in my heart

where you lay your hand once, firm

and declared me dear

I hold a mountain

a forge that will not grow cold

in those times it grieves me to be apart

wishing to bury myself in your familiar skin

it is the bird I saw lying as still as rock, I recall

not moving an inch, stiff to touch

and turning at the sound of approaching car

I feel before I see, a rustling, reverberation

in humid Summer air

as taking flight in feeble entreaty, the same bird

gasps for height

beyond me now, surviving glass

what we thought lost, threads sky with color

a cry, a wink, then obscured by cloud

maybe in that singing bowl of wonder

lies our answer

within us, as without

love survives, love is found

restored in memory

unspoiled, unbroken.

(for Marjorie)

9 Replies to “Surviving glass”

  1. Thank you dearest Charlie. I didn’t cease just had to move my blog off WP because of their unfair ban. But I still come through the WP Reader (teehee – foiled!) and I very much appreciate the read from you. I am seeing less readership as I believe it’s harder to see through the Reader I employ but I’m always so delighted to see those I care about, on this blog xo

  2. In the Iliad, Achilles opined
    That immortality exists
    In being remembered
    If I remember aright
    In his grief for Patroclus
    “Parting” wrote the Bard of Avon
    “Is such sweet sorrow.”
    Remembering our departed ones
    Yes, sorrow and sweet
    Eternity may be, or not
    But here, in Time, the time we have
    Make them immortal, yes, we do.

  3. D, I think I have taken a leaf out of your book of positive thinking of late. See my latest post. Moreover, I have begun to truly see how there is hope. Thank you for always being one of the few people I truly cherish. You are neverfailingly kind and supportive and that doesn’t go unnoticed or valued.

  4. The connections seem to make themselves when the themes run so deep. And there is a process, I think, called loose associations which is a gift for poets and a symptom for schizophrenics and manics. And there is a special pleasure in amazing YOU, the queen of the kaleidoscope of words.

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