Tag Archives: Grief

THE UNVEILING

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THE UNVEILING

On the first anniversary of my mother’s death
I find myself in the middle of New Mexico
the day late, and a prayer short

I stop my Catholic nun friend, now
married and converted Jewish
and tell her of my plight

Also the hope that she
or her husband might have
some words to fit the occasion

The answer is yes, the word is Kaddish
and they are meeting with the Rabbi
to arrange the Friday Shabat supper

Myself, Dorsey, Paul, Maryrita and Dan
now five, the number of her children
sit in circle in the hotel lobby

Paul is a new Rabbi and a very sweet man
he forgets some of the words, Dan helps
I say “her Hebrew isn’t that good,
I don’t think she’ll mind”

I am touched that the prayer is of praise
and not of mourning, and the idea
that whatever good I might do,
my brothers and sisters too,
are her gifts to the world

This may be a poem about salt
there is something about salt
and her gift from our eyes
as we share

THE FIRST MOTHERS DAY AFTER THE LAST MOTHERS DAY

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THE FIRST MOTHERS DAY AFTER THE LAST MOTHERS DAY

Slowly it dawns on Sunday morning
that you didn’t call nearly often enough
and didn’t send nearly enough cards
or thank her nearly enough

And even if
you put the cattle racks
on the big grain truck
and filled it with flowers
till it ran over all four sides

Even if you drove it to the cemetery
and dumped the whole damn load
on her single rose grave
it wouldn’t be anywhere near enough

AFTER THE DEATH

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AFTER THE DEATH
(for Orli and Gideon)

These are the days of the rats in the cages

The burrowing into sawdust corners
the gnawing on bars
and the running on wheels
mostly the running on wheels

Even at night, specially at night
while God in his lab coat naps in the corner

and you know with perfect logic and insanity

If you could just do it fast enough
if you could just do it right enough

Like the wheels of old watches
all the cogs would fit the way they used to
when the good ones all had jewels
sleeping safe in their dark cases

And each morning you had to wind them up
if you wanted hours in your day

And you know, wish, know, wish, know,
that there is another way that this must go

And if you could just get the woulda, coulda
shoulda, coulda, woulda, shoulda; would,
coulda, shoulda, woulda, wheels
to mesh their gears just right

You could turn it all back

IN MEMORY STILL

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IN MEMORY STILL
(or computers byte)

You keep popping up in my memory

On old disks I find love notes
still as loving as when they were entered

Faxes, letters, poems, thoughts
full of beauty full of trust

Valentine’s poems, three of them
overflowing with sensual exaltation
wisdom exchanged, depths plumbed,
promises made

Fresh and clean and bright
as the day they were written
lines that would go on forever
lines that still do go on forever

I don’t know how to tell the little ones
and zeros that we’re now apart
it might break their heart

KENDRA

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KENDRA

When the natives of this land
suffered a death such as this
they knew how to grieve

They felt it to the depths of their being
and cut deep into their arms and legs
that they might reach deeper

Today my great friends
I reach and bleed with you

Written for my cousin Kenny and his wife Betty on the tragic loss of their eighteen year old daughter

KURT

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KURT

I am sure that the life
of my dear friend’s brother
held great meaning for a great many

He will be missed

My poems will miss him

He would take them down
into the greatness of his being
wrap them in music and meaning
and sing them back out to the world

I am sure that Kurt touched many people
in ways they have not been touched before
nor will ever be again

My poems join in the mourning

for that touch