Small inconsequential things–
the placement of boxes
haphazardly stacked
with attitude
on the last day of your life
that have, until today,
INSISTED
on remaining stagnant–
a testament,
something that said, definitively,
‘I was here, I was physically present,
I was a pain in the ass at times,
I did things for you
even when I didn’t want to’
–proof of love–
and, somehow, sans logic, seems to mean
‘I am still here’.

You are,
and you’re
not.

Somehow, today,
it is time to move,
to cry and grieve yet again
for all that is different,
to allow that difference
to seep further into
my everyday world, a world
where boxes are stored
high on shelves,
completion of projects within stalled
in this world where sons
lie deep within
the seeping, sinking ground
while bass riffs beat soundless
loving rhythms in my heart.

Through grace he leaves
traces, relics,
unexpected evidence
of love and Presence:
feathers
a touch of wind,
lyrics and clouds that spark
memories and bits of dreams
barely remembered, yet—

you touch me, somehow, smiling,
and I Know

and without awareness, Grace
slowly expands into
boxes neatly stored,
Teddy’s unfinished Christmas stocking
awaiting, perhaps,
a grandbaby whose smile
echos another’s,
both lighting our lives with
love and laughter,
joy and
Hope.

You have a wonderful site and I love all your Sunday poems!
Caroline´s last post … The Types of Siamese Cats

Thanks so much for sharing this with us!

my dreams birth poems
perfect screaming babies
crown from my cosmos
starshine wild and wet
pink universes plop into spiralbound arms
lusty-latch on to pen’s ripe nipple
sloppy slurp first white milk of page
then surrender to sleep
exhausted
but born.

Jody Lewis