I had thought I would throw away this shirt
The one of that last morning
I was afraid it would hold whispers of your touch, your breath, your hair
I was afraid it would remind me of that day
That the arms of this shirt would hang limp
As my arms do now sometimes
Not knowing where to turn, what to do, what to think without you
But today
I don’t know why
Today my arms are stronger
And today I am thinking
That this can be my work shirt
Always reminding me of your ethic, your planning
And then it can be my garden shirt
Tails flapping as I snip and dig and plant
And wipe my hands as you did
Standing up from the mound and looking satisfied
Some days it will be my resting shirt
And at the end of those days, when all is ready and all is done
It will be my do-nothing shirt
For those Do-Nothing Days
I wonder where you are
Where did you go
Sometimes I can feel you on my shoulder
Like a black crow squawking
And sometimes you are at my elbow
With barely a touch
There are days that I know you are near me
Always watching and smiling and knowing
But some days I don’t know where you are
On those days
It’s hard to know what to do
How to keep going
What matters
And what does not matter
Sometimes I feel you waving me down
Saying, “Stop, stop”
and other times
You just flitter your fingers
"Away, away"
Your arms were strong
I know there were days when you also did not know what to do
What would end, what would continue
On those days your arms were just as limp
Just as quiet
Resting
Waiting
It’s going to be like this forever
It’s going to go back and forth
Like everything else
I will never forget you
Your arms, your hands, your fingers
Your eyes, your voice, your hair
I stand up and tuck the tissue
Into the sleeve of this shirt
And I know today
You are here
Here
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Thank you for sharing your beautiful thoughts with the world. You are such an inspiration to me and so many others. I wish you were right here with me now. XOXOXOXO Nancy
ReplyDeletebeautifully expressed...
ReplyDelete