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The return

You are
the sliver of blue behind the grey
the yellow stripe on the crocus
the pungent plum tree blossoms
the insistent call of the plump chickadee
the arching green tulip leaves

Today,
I whisper prayers of gratitude
to Spring
as she awakens
and brings
you

a poetry thursday favorite poem

The Sunday before the Wednesday I was to see you
the conversation played
on a stage in my mind.
Knowing you would pretend to be irritated that
I had flown across the country unannounced
because you did not
want me to see you like this,
I would pull the chair next to your bed,
see your emaciated body,
and my hand would brush
away the hair around your face
like I did twenty-five years ago
right before I would smear Pond’s cold cream
across your nose, cheeks, and forehead.
I would tell you that I finally understood.

But then you died on Tuesday.

In their need for reason,
people said you chose to die
the Tuesday before the Wednesday I was to see you
because you knew I was coming and
you wouldn’t have
wanted me to see you like that.
Infuriated, I turned my back
on the words that meant nothing
to the open wound you left behind
that people saw as me, and
I sat in the darkness,
my throat choked with silence,
my fingertips filled with regret that I
did not brush your hair
away from your face
when I saw you on
the morning of the Thursday after the Wednesday I was to see you,
when I heard your voice say,
It isn’t me.

****

I originally shared this poem in the summer of 2006 and again here as part of Poetry Thursday, which was an online community I co-hosted. It poured out of me one day when I was processing the grief surrounding my grandmother's death and my anger at the platitudes people say. Of all the poems I wrote during my experience of Poetry Thursday, this was my favorite.

a midnight poem

I unclenched
my fisted
grasp on hope

until the day I sat before you
and asked

a shift

galloping, hope arrives

I steady myself
then spin
inside it

a new word

my eyes are so heavy and i can honestly not believe that i am not in bed. here is the reason why: i simply had to write a poem.

i took susan wooldridge's poemcrazy class on thursday and i have an energy around writing that is filling me up to a near-bursting level of joy (though, i assure you that if you were sitting here with me you might question that as i have been a bit grumpy all afternoon).

this draft of a poem was inspired by a necklace i bought from nina bagley at vendor night (i can't wait to show you a picture of the necklace soon). in susan's class, she gave us the prompt of "the ______ says." so tonight, i played with that prompt and wrote this:

the bird says

this morning
I awoke to an open door

as I pondered its purpose
stagnate years
whirled
around me
until
with ginger steps
and breath
I unfurled and
grasped the space

this evening
I am uncaged