jjm, 5-14-1947 - 1/28/2003
Relics: A Diary
January 28
As the phone call ended downstairs
I folded down a corner of the Secret Garden,
perched it atop a stack of books, way too optimistic
for the fortieth week, and turned
toward the door to my husband’s
ashen face—
I turned toward the door, the door,
the door beyond which
there be dragons, as the mapmakers used to say
with their quills poised over a tattered void.
February 1
While the family gathered
four states away,
filed past his red motorcycle loitering
at the church steps,
I placed a picture on a low table,
exhaled into a chapel, and sat down creaking front.
And people who didn’t know him,
but who knew me, loved me (loved me! loved me?)
filled in respectful rows,
heard how he made French toast and adored
Alice’s Restaurant,
stood at table
tore bread
fumbled a hug
and left.
And debris rained over a Texas plain.
February 12
In dreams, at least,
a gleaming new child
met a confused old wanderer.
There, she said, pointing behind her,
to forever, to Goodness,
that’s the way you’re looking for.
All right then, he said,
lifted her,
cradled her for an eternal instant,
then twirled her around to the path he’d completed
and wished her luck and love.
20 Responses to “five years”
Leave a Reply
Search
Asides
» I’m looking for some new online reading materials–blogs, zines, whatever. Creative yet accessible, inspiring but not schmaltzy, smart but not impenetrable. Recommendations welcome.
» The latest on SBJ: at one year, he weighs 30.5 pounds (99%), is 32 inches tall (97%) and is 100% cute.
» I have been remiss in posting SBJ’s latest stats: 23 pounds and 27 inches at six months. Yes, I’ve got the big mama biceps.
Links
Join | List | Prev | Next Random | Prev5 | Next5
Skip Prev | Skip Next
Join | List | Prev | Next |
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Tears are streaming down my face for you.
(((tight hug)))
For better or worse, I can’t stop tinkering with that poem.
Here’s another one for today from the Writer’s Almanac.
(o)
Such a beautiful expression of enduring love.
(o)
(o)
I rememberthose weeks, for you and R…and wondering what it would be like, for me, when that phone call came or one like it. It came almost exactly 2 years later - Feb. 3, 2005, when my mother died on her 83rd birthday. So this week, RM, I am thinking about the events that week and day and weeks for me that began then. Thank you for sharing words that help give voice to my feelings and freshen my cheeks with tears.
He fathered 4 of the best (in my opinion, THE BEST) human beings alive today…for that, and more, I’m grateful he was in my life.
He was a great dad. I miss him.
Oh, RM, tears are streaming here, too.
(((ReverendMother)))
Oh…tears here too. So powerful.
Thank you for the picture.
Thinking of you.
Peace.
Wonderful poem. Thank you so much for posting. I love that you tinker with it each year. Living poems are wonderful things.
oh
(o)
The movie plays less… a little less. But it always comes unbidden on this day and slightly different from yours. The movie, always in slow motion, of every minute of every hour of that last whole day. Ditto what Matthew said….he was so very proud of your love of writing.
(((RM)))
(o)
Your poem kicks the butt of the almanac poem.
Thanks for sharing it with us.
Oh, you all are sweet.
It’s rainy and I’m feeling tired and blah today. I think I did too much yesterday.