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Posts Tagged ‘death’

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Late at night

after she washes her face

and slips from her dress

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she becomes a teardrop

quaking with grief

on the tip of God’s tongue,

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but there —

see how the light

shines through.

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©  2018  Betty Hayes Albright 

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cats carved by Arlie

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It was your favorite book,

the one with Goldbug*

hidden in every picture.

You’d turn the pages

and find him peeking

from the window of a car

or riding in the back

of a fire truck.

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When you grew up

you had your own cars and trucks

and never failed to wave

and beep your horn

when you drove away.

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A year ago today

you left this realm

but you are not gone.

I feel you standing next to me

as I water the grape ivy.

Your wind chime rings

when the air is perfectly still.

The little wooden cats

you carved for me

change position during the night.

Something invisible

tickles my arm.

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You tell me in a dream

not to be sad

and you wave at me

from the windows of everywhere.

I wave back

and turn another page.

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©  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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* from Richard Scarry’s – Cars and Trucks and Things that Go

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Cats carved by my late son, Arlie, when he was 8 or 9.

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I’d fly on white wings,

one of joy

one of sorrow

balanced

on crosswinds

above

and below

to mate

in mid-flight

with a prayer.

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(c) 1990, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright

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(A re-post from 2011)

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My thoughts and condolences are with Santa Fe, Texas today, and with all those affected by this most recent school shooting. When will it stop?

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If you must choose

be not the rose

nor the wintering compost

but rather the seed,

the capsule that knows

beginnings and endings

are the sacred vines

which weave immortality.

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(c) 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(a re-post, revised)

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Corner

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She pouts in a corner

it seems

the gods play rough

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at times

crushing her breath

into a knot

.

pulling her head-first

through a barrel

of tear-salt

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staining her face

with keens

shoulders wracked

.

it should have been me

I’m old

he was young.

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She folds

into a corner

when the gods play rough.

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©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

 

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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.

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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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