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Posts Tagged ‘death’

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IMG_9820

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He always came home

from school

with pockets full

of stuff he found

on the side of the road –

nails and screws,

shiny rocks

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and one day

a bent bottle cap

roughly shaped like a heart

which he painted red

for me.

.

I find it still

in my jewelry box

place it in a bowl

next to the shiny rock

roughly shaped like a heart

which I spotted

just this morning

in the sun

on the side of the road.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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(for my late son, Arlie) 

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It was a long, silent fall

into the days

where “Dad” was spoken

in past tense.

He was tall

like autumn shadows

and he made us laugh

like the dancing, crackled leaves

around our feet.

And he would fast remind us

that trees return

to green

in this orbit’s gentle whirling

when spring gives back again.

.

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(C) 1997, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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9.13.56 Abe Hayes

 

Dad and me 1955

1955 – Deception Pass, Whidbey Island, Washington State

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(A tribute to my dad, who passed away twenty years ago this month.

My apologies to those who have read it previously.)

 

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The lights blow out

and the room grows

starkly quiet

in the dark

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except for the drip

drip

dripping

of a faucet and

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those thoughts

she had ignored

now howling

like the wild

of the wind.

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©  2015, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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seagull pendant

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I wear the old necklace

a gift from my son

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he tells me

  to stop saying

  if only and should’ve

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he bought it

with his pizza money

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it was nobody’s fault

   he says.

   I want to believe

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his heart was young

and vital then

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he would’ve hated

   the hospital with all

   those tubes and machines

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whenever I wore it

he was proud and happy

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the coroner said

   it was probably quick

   which was a blessing

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like a pewter seagull

soaring.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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709px-Mount_Rainier_5917s

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A simple thing

to scatter his ashes

one would think

but Mt. Rainier

will never be

the same.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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Image of Mt. Rainier from Wikipedia Commons

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IMG_9642

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I hear it sing

through the kitchen window

your old wind chime

its long weathered pipes

clanging across the wetlands

echoing up the hillside.

You wave to me now

smiling

from the crest

of a mighty gale

roaring through the heavens

and away.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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(For my late son Arlie, who would be turning 45 on July 29th)

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There’s no warning.

Grief leaks from my eyes

staining my cheeks

the same way

my blouse

became soaked

with milk

between feedings

when he was an infant.

It’s what happens.

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(c) 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

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Arlie 12 19 08

Arlie in 2008

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Betty73

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1973 – Happy days. Arlie sitting on his great-grandmother’s lap with older brother Jason.

 

 

 

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