Wednesday, October 24, 2012

poem for the dead


haunting

I get to thinking on my bones
like star dust
not mine to have just to pass through
I get to thinking on your bones
like tree limbs

lying on the forest floor

or yours
buried in the dirt of mount hope

yours of ash
once arms full of firewood

get to thinking things like
homeland
mothers
lovers
dust
home in the water

migration

your fingers

the bed you died in

haunt me

all of you

its your time
to speak
like rustling leaves
to the ground

hustle and move me
remind me about the other side
of loss
about time arching over to knit
all the bones into blankets of light
I’m here to remember

yours.



2 comments:

amber said...

so beautiful, thank you.

sq said...

thank you for this reminder, bringing out my big sigh. seeley