It has been years since I last saw her;
Still I wait for her each day,
Even knowing, as I do, she no longer exists
As I once knew her… but something of her is there:
Still the person in whose eyes I hope to shine,
One who visits in occasional dreams,
Occupies every prayer, her face
Smiles from photographs on my desk.
Houses on the curving street are lined
With flawless beds of flowers, children
Walk their dogs, play badminton, smile.
Yet even warm and dazzling weather
Brings her voice upon humid air, rising
Clouds taunting, aimless, ruthless….
So this is grief… this passing of the seasons,
From late spring to summer heat….
Promised lengthening of days,
Crushing into awareness of the years
Passing, distance hourly growing, memories
Retreating, floating, washing ashore again each day.
Walking half a block is like climbing a cliff,
Hands shaking, seeking absolution as much as
Offering forgiveness, tender words never heard,
Pacing back and forth at night in empty rooms.
Bits and pieces emerge from hiding without warning;
Thoughts never satisfying nor answers fully understood.
Sometimes evening whimpers; sometimes curses cry
Against backdrop of silent glimmering stars….
What peace is there to cultivate in such silence?
Can I hope for love to lessen?
Is the worst over or yet to come?