Recollections
Beneath a relentless sun,
a coral bell succumbs;
a petunia endures.
The yucca,
ever indifferent, cascades
her lovely dying white
across a range of green.
I have not heard your voice
for many months now--
it’s gentle rise and fall,
its distinguishable cadence
something I will hear again
only in the dark recesses
of memory, in that windless
cave where the sounds
of an entire lifetime bounce
around, temporal and holy,
showing up at the oddest times.
The missing is acute
today, summer throwing
angular shadows across the lawn.
I hide inside, away from the heat
and the raging busyness of bees,
Japanese beetles, and hummingbirds,
women mowing their yards, men
driving pleasure boats on the small lake
near the pier where you showed
me how to bait a hook, their lives
unaffected, but I get no comfort
beneath my comforter, hiding
away, completely unobscured behind
the blindless windows of my grief.
10 comments:
I came here to tell you that I'm missing my father very much today. Keenly. I don't know why.
I just read your wonderful poem and realized you and I are in the same place.
A while ago, I was going to suggest to you that maybe you should break out of your "blob" formatting of poetry writing and try writing in couplets or 3 or 4 line stanzas---and you went and beat me to the punch.
I think the formatting here works strongly towards the poem's purpose of expressing grief and the distancing of oneself from the day.
Ah, gee, Maggie, I know I'll be missing my father for the rest of my life, but after 6 years (it'll be seven, unbelievably, in October), I really thought it might get easier or more bearable or something.
But at the end of any given day, he's still not here. And for some reason, I can't seem to forgive life and death and the world and the universe for taking him away.
Thanks for this poem. It reminds me of how I have felt, of how I feel.
Hey!
You were posting as I was editing the poem. Let me know if you think this version is better.
I cut out the flower intro part and changed around some things with the part about hearing the voice...I also corrected a word--I had "indistinguishable" which, of course, I did not intend--so, it's very different from what you read.
I wrote this last summer and never posted it. I was thinking about it today and about the missing that never ends.
I guess I do need to get out of the blob writing thing. It's just a style I really like right now (been reading so much Laux and Levis and there's lots of blob stuff there but it's so much better work than mine!).
Thanks for stopping by, Laurel.
I think the missing will always be with us, and I feel certain there's a good reason for that though it sure as hell don't feel good when you're feeling it.
I like the beginning lines of the previous draft--I liked them sonically and I liked their content too.
Not sure if my opinion helps or counts...but I recall reading the opening lines and feeling like I was reading some famous poet's poem.
I was very pleased that the poem was yours instead.
Consider putting those lines back? Pretty please? With sugar on top?
(smile)
(actually, the whole poem read like some famous poet's poem; I hope you submit it somewhere)
Have you read any of Ruth Stone's work? Sam (of the blog Sam of the 10,000 things) posted one of her poems The Dark and then I read 3 more the other day on Poetry Daily. The two that I found really moving dealt with her mother's death. I'm not familiar with her work but I love what I've read so far.
Laurel,
I trust your judgment--back in they go.
A famous poet--I like the thought of that--one can dream, yes?
Thanks for saying such a thing and meaning it--you know how I struggle with self-confidence.
I have not read any Ruth Stone, but I am going to read some now!
When I searched for Ruth Stone at poets.org and found her picture, I remembered her--her face, and then, her words. I don't know when I read her or what I was reading when I stumbled across her work, but I remember thinking it was strong work--work I would return to.
That being said, had you not mentioned her here, I don't know when I would have thought or read of her again.
Been reading some of her work and some biographical info on this site:
http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/s_z/stone/life.htm
She was way ahead of her time, and still is in many ways.
Thanks, Laurel (and Sam).
lovely work, maggie. grief numbs us but then it turns around and makes us experience life with an appreciation that is new and familiar at the same time.
our son died twenty years ago. there is not a day goes by that we don't feel his death as keenly as ever.
and the guilt, the loss, the emptiness never cease.
For me, my mother, it's been 28 years tomorrow actually, the anniversary of her passing and it will be a difficult day per usual remembering the last day I say her there in the hospital withered away to skin and bones cancer eating away her mind too but her spirit was strong to the end and it is that that I carry with me every day. Your poem brought much emotion to the surface and you wrote it so well dear Maggie. I love the windless cave part.
You take care, get well too and remember to smil as often as possible.
((((((Maggie))))))
Thanks for the sentiment you left on my blog Maggie, appreciate that friend! I have written quite a few poems about my mom, some okay but most not that good because the emotion gets in the way huh.
If it okay with you, I would like to add your blog link on my page. I only get about 20 to 50 readers a day right now but it might send some new traffic your way. Let me know here and I will do it then.
Today has been a rough one too. Our 13 year old cat Mia slid the sliding screen door open this morning and escaped from the house and is still missing. We have been searching all day. We have had her through all the tough times, forever it seems. We are all messed up. I pray we get her back.
Calder,
I am so sorry to hear about your kitty--hopefully she's close by and just hiding. At 13, unless she's still really feisty, she most likely won't go far. They are such good hiders. I will say some words for her this night, and for all of you who search for her.
My 6-yr old has gotten out a few times. We didn't find her for at least 24 hours one of the times she got outside, and there she was--under the magnolia--we should have been able to sense her, but she didn't let us know where she was. I just happened to be looking out the window when she emerged the next day.
Certainly you can add me to your links.
Keep me posted on Mia.
jim,
I almost missed your comment here--glad I didn't. Did you write about your son much in the years immediately following his death? I know he's in some of your work in Judgment Call, or at least some of the poems speak to me of his loss.
Yes, grief has this way of awakening us at the same time it's deadening--or as you say--numbing us. There is just a clarity that comes from such a loss.
Thanks for reading me and telling me what you think.
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