Floating in the Ditch Alone

It is impossible to look and
Impossible to look away,
Floating in the ditch, alone….
Listening as I am to all the memories
Harbored close within my mind.
Though he died last night,
He seems right here, kicking by my side.
So many versions melding deep inside.
My sister suggested I wait awhile,
As though nothing was happening.
I should have gone ahead,
Left the books behind.
Apparently I forgot everything religion taught—
But then I had no reference point.
How was I to know he was going to go?
Wordsworth said “the radiance which was
Once so bright be now forever taken
From my sight…nothing can bring back the
Splendor in the grass, glory in the flower.”
Why is learning so damn slow?
Is it that hard to live with
Mindfulness that life is brief?
Why is the hardest teacher always grief?
I had always assumed we were so attuned
He would wait for me, not run ahead,
Leaving me desperate and shivering alone.
Now the burning tongues of fire
Burrow into skin, praying,
Davvening for Holy Ghosting in the stillness,
Hearing only silence from the grave.
Have you also strained to see within the dark,
Only to completely miss the mark,
Thinking the doorway was still open
While it’s forever closed?
Sitting on the couch, I turn the pages,
His words perpetually evaporating,
Wildly drifting down the avenue.
Every page I read,
I am lost in contemplation of the mystery,
Floating in the ditch by the side of the field, alone.
Why is the hardest teacher always grief?


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