Held
Kneeling
She organized flowers
By the grave side
Arranging, rearranging
Realizing
Some things cannot be fixed…
They can only be held.
Every Morning
Every morning
the world
is created
Under the orange
sticks of the sun
the heaped ashes
of the night
turn into leaves again
(The first few lines from “Morning Poem” by Mary Oliver)
And we have a choice to be recreated every single morning.
I Miss Quincy
Off to College/Off to Eternity
By the Flowers of Spring
By the Flowers of Spring
(My gift to Quincy on her 21st Birthday. Her first spent in heaven)
Behold the hours,
In summer’s sun,
Ephemeral flowers,
There stained with love.
The light descends,
Late afternoon,
The autumn’s hint,
Impending ruin.
Oh winter’s ruse,
A hammering blow,
The fatal bruise,
Has laid us low.
And dark goes the song. The flowers are crushed.
And dark goes the song. The flowers are crushed.
And dark goes the song. Our love’s been lost.
Sigh…
But, wait. Listen...
A thawing crack.
Snowmelt glistens,
The sunlight’s back.
And can it be?
Yes! Sprouting sprouts!
And shooting greens,
Release the SHOUT!
(Ha!)
Winter’s anthem,
Has lost its sting
Finally vanquished,
By the Flowers of Spring.
And bright goes the song. The flowers are raised.
And bright goes the song. The flowers are raised.
And bright goes the song. Our love’s been saved!
