Empty
Vessels
Words are
such empty vessels,
brittle, chipped, cracked,
unable to bear the weight
of loss, agony, regret.
When death strikes, they dissipate
like dust in a sudden gust.
My daughter
is dead, I repeat.
(I held her broken body.
A fingertip touch told me
it was not shemy eyes
blanched by her lifeless form.)
I feel her
presence unexpectedly
in familiar placesa walk along the beach,
a glimpse in my rear view mirror,
in the croaking voice of her brother's grief.
Her mother
keens again, rocking in failed light.
I sit near her darkness and sway.
What we had is gone. What we have is ...
|