"I will take the end of a thought in my hand and walk back and forth."—Sherwood Anderson
before all the air disappears from the room,
give us a simple holy moment to grieve.
Give us a chance to write a damn poem.
They who have known you are many and spread.
Change comes to most from a distance.
So before we announce you're officially dead,
give us time to explain your existence.
Tomorrow like all days will show up for breakfast.
Quite possibly you won't be there.
So we wish to collect on this hasty checklist:
your eyes, your philosophy, your hair.
Pacing around with these words in my hands,
while, Mother, you leave us for unwritten lands.
2 comments:
This is lovely, JD. Stronger than before, yet so tenderly smiling.
LOVE LOVE LOVE. Thank you.
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