Sherry

The river hangs bells for Christmas
along the sand turned crystal.
My steps disturb them just enough,
and the gentle chimes
and watery words
say this:

Goodbye,
to the sun we remember
crossing your girl-moon face,

goodbye
to words dropped on the table
between you and the rest of us,

my coffee cup,
our napkin,
a plate of all good things.

And more than the food,
the sweetness,
more than the sun,
now before us this winter
without you,

more than your children,
your family,
more than our grief,

is this--

ice bells on the river,
silence,
the frozen steps in sand,

--reminders you're closer now
to everything.

I feel you here even at the farm,
as alpacas saunter from the barn
and the air warms

before the next snow comes.

I will feel you at the gathering
of mourners, we'll talk about you,
you'd be embarrassed but it's ok.
We're all bringing lucky pots,
I made brownies.

I will feel you in the teary eyes,
the gulp of air your sister takes
while telling the story of your passing,

how your heart skipped away,
Thanksgiving was an unsteady boat,
your oars fell, you slipped from us so gently,
like water, like a song that ends too soon,

like the sun turned cold for a day
and a night,

we looked up
and you were gone.

But I remember,
and when I see the photo on the poster
on the door to the Saloon

it all comes back.
You come back in the telling,
in the memory,

in the thousands of bells
chiming the completion

of your interrupted song.




for Sherry
because we love you

c2009 Flood Water Press