Tag Archives: Grief

FOR JEANNE

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FOR JEANNE

It is April twentieth
two thousand and eight

Jeanne Guthrie died today
or stepped on a rainbow
as Kinky would say

The e-mail said
they took her off life support

Hell, she was life support
as everyone who knew her knew
for all family, friends, poets
and strays of every cry and hue

Yes, I loved her, as so many loved her
Texas sized heart and humor too

And must admit I loved
how much she loved
one line of my poetry

It is the line in “Winter in The Barn”
where; Kittens wait by a tin plate
to put their morning moustache on

She said it was her favourite line
in this whole wide world

I wonder if she will take it
with her into the next

Or will it remain in the book

Just another book
in a big box of books
packed off to Goodwill

The milk drying

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