I can think of nothing that hurts like the death of your child. This piece was written while still on the raw and bleeding edge of despair, and while the references in the piece may not be understood, I hope the acute agony of my soul is obvious.
I had a tremendous fear that I would stop hurting at some time. Thank God, I never have!
And I know that the same is true for Beth, Stephen, Kevin, and Alison.
The poem was published in a book called Reflections By Moonlight.
I had a tremendous fear that I would stop hurting at some time. Thank God, I never have!
And I know that the same is true for Beth, Stephen, Kevin, and Alison.
The poem was published in a book called Reflections By Moonlight.
March 28, 2010 marks the 35th anniversary of our loss
PHILLIP
1967-1975
Untidy stacks of hockey cards
blessed
by grubby hands and
the insides of jeans pockets
wait
wait for the return of hands
that lift them
and the voice that says
“Daddy, want to see my cards
I’ve got four of Corneyer”
The robot, patiently, on his track
waits
and neato shoes
with a compass in the heel
now feeling only emptiness
wait
Treasures once, now remnants
all wait
but not alone
my heart
also shelved
waits
for grubby hands to bless it
waits
without hope
.
1967-1975
Untidy stacks of hockey cards
blessed
by grubby hands and
the insides of jeans pockets
wait
wait for the return of hands
that lift them
and the voice that says
“Daddy, want to see my cards
I’ve got four of Corneyer”
The robot, patiently, on his track
waits
and neato shoes
with a compass in the heel
now feeling only emptiness
wait
Treasures once, now remnants
all wait
but not alone
my heart
also shelved
waits
for grubby hands to bless it
waits
without hope
.
1 comment:
I have tears in my eyes. The poem is dripping wet with agony. Having a child myself now helps me understand a little more. I cannot say that I understand completely but there is a little part of me that can imagine it some. I wouldn't want to stop hurting either.
I am, and always will be, so sorry for your loss.
Post a Comment