Carving: a poem of life and death.

Carving.

.

The bark of a tree

textured rough, linear grooves

scraped

against my skin

peeled

down to the

tender new wood

is how I feel

still

when I think of your death.

So young so

alone

so alone you must have been

and where was I

why was I

oblivious to your good-bye?

As if like any other

as if I would see you again

after

your hand

you put your hand

to my baby soon to be born

but not in time

to know

you,

and what I remember

and what I hold

tenderly

is what a joy

you were

to me.

.

.

Advertisements

2 Comments on “Carving: a poem of life and death.”

  1. Sad, yet full of promise, Lily…perhaps, as her spirit wafts through these lovely, sun-dappled trees, she is recalling the memory of time with you?

  2. janinevasta says:

    My eyes are burning. A lost sister. I know the feeling. It never goes away. I have no ‘wisdom’ to impart dear Lily. Only my love. x


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s