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Posts Tagged ‘grief’

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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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Grief does not tip-toe

it comes

on lead feet

leaving deep prints

in the earth

to collect our tears

and send them over-flowing

to the stream

that joins all sorrow

winding to the sea.

And in the walk-about

where we are left to keen

wildflowers bloom around

the weeping willow tree.

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©  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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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

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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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The lights blow out

and the room grows

starkly quiet

in the dark

.

except for the drip

drip

dripping

of a faucet and

.

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

 .

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

.

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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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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