Tag Archives: loss

A conversation

I imagine that what comes after must be better than before,

No constant monitoring of the quality, that is to maintain

with manmade artifices,

of  how beautiful or how healthy we are.

For me, it is not to know. I am here.

But for you, there – passed beyond the walls of this world,

it should be filled with the flavors of wine and honey,

the laughter of the loved and lost,

the passage of infinite moments cast

equally of musical crescendo and allargando – and pianissimo.

As for me, I do not know.

I do not know when the brightest stars are going to fade.

Perhaps you can show me someday.

Sitting at your glass table, with coffee and fresh-baked bread

I listen to the rain, instead.




Last Request

Brother, let’s go out and visit the fair,
the weather is nice and our friends will be there,
Laughing and joyously roaming around
The fun and the revelry crackle on air.
Brother, let’s go out and go to the fair.

Sister, let’s go to the market and shop.
It’s early and sales are beginning to crop.
I need some new shoes that will go with my dress.
-palpable joy with a buzz and a pop.
Sister, let’s go out to market and shop.

Mommy, it’s time now to take me to school.
Wednesday, we learned all about a gold rule,
Teacher said Tomas was kind to his friends.
Kindness is always the way to be cool.
Mommy, it’s time now to take me to school.

Father, I’m going with Lizzie and Nance
We’re meeting some girlfriends for drinks, then to dance.
We’ll have a late dinner, somewhere downtown
I may not be home till the morning, perchance.
Father, I’m going to eat, drink and dance.

Dearest, it’s Sunday and time to go pray.
Our brother and sister were taken away.
Gone down in their pastimes, the losses are cold.
Dearest, our action – this every day:
Banish the hatred that caused this decay.


She wanted that life, she thought,
After wading in the water up and down the beach
Her feet embedding in the moving sand.
The allure of the ocean beyond pulled her further out
To that pale white line at the edge
Of the blue-green horizon,
Until there was no place to stand,
only piled surf
And depths of a world she could not comprehend.

With remnants of foam,
The continuing washes of the waves
Moved her ashore in the sand
like a child’s tantrum from anger to tears,
Bits of seaweed in her hair,
and a breathless sobbing
that no mother can placate.

Between Beaches 4 and 5

Walking on the sand
he noticed that
erosion plains occur
every so often,
as run-off from heavy rains
strip away layers and sculpt
the low-lying landscape.

It is only a lake
and not a great ocean.

It is a place where rivers and creeks collide.
Behind a manmade wall,
where ancestral lands
and cemeteries were slowly drowned,
the living and the dead
were displaced with equal sluggishness.
The basin slowly filled
to cover first the grasses,
then underbrush and the trees.

He never felt the desire
to trample a sand castle,
except this once.

Half Empty

The pond is full now,
overflowing from the weekend rain.
The wind is lapping
the water to the edge,
just under the honeysuckle.

There was a path and small landing there, not two days ago.
A place just near the waters edge, protected from the afternoon sun.
On other days, we’d stretch out and cast lines towards the center,
and let the bobbers sit.

I always wanted to pull the lines closer,
but you were content
to let it stay
subject to the breeze
and what lay just under the surface.

Let the fish come to you.

The bluegill always skirted the shore,
playfully darting up and back,
expecting breadcrumbs.

But you and I never fed them.

The wind in the brush reminds me
that the landing is now covered.
I’ll leave, but will return tomorrow.

Yet, even when the water recedes,
it will never be the same.


In that moment before grief
When you have a hold on something
-it could be anything-
maybe carrots,
or a sheet of paper,
or pencil.
You release your grip in an instant.
Time does not continue,
yet the object falls away.

Not like dropping a ball,
with a child’s anticipation of return.
Neither as with a moment of revelation,
or when gasps follow a feverish plea
for more.

It is different.

It is a moment we cannot predict,
unable to stage a photograph
of the way the touch vanishes
and grasp fails,
yet the burden of loss enfolds.