We will not see another dawn together.
Nor will we watch the day deepen to dark.
And all those hours of wondering whether
we should have stayed, or left, or disembarked
are now behind us, as you too recede.
The chair you sat in moves within the wind
(I watched two chipmunks play tag at its feet)
and tried to conjure you rocking again.
It didn’t work: your place remains empty.
As does each room, the entire house, the bed ~
I don’t allow the memories to tempt me.
What am I saying?? I know that you are dead.
I know it all too well, but not, my heart,
just how to deal with all of this…apart.
This is really beautiful, and touching. Very raw!
Hello, Britton,
This poem (“apart”) seemed to “fit” with Prompt #6, your poem about letters. More than commentary about the poems, I am struck by the loss and mourning you have captured here. We have had such widespread devastation, and the quiet of letters or sunsets are filled with solitary mourning because we faced so much death, had to move forward so quickly, needed to master a new skill rather than grieve . . . . These past years have been surreal in many ways.
Stunning! Curious parallel with my own writing to this image; yet a completely different treatment. I feel like we had such parallels in previous marathons as well… Very moving. Thank you