Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘loss’

.

red love heart christmas

.

When we hurt,

grief wants nothing more

than to light a candle

and sit with us

in our keening.

.

If we look it in the eye

we’ll see

its soft depth

as it holds us tenderly

to the flame.

.

And when we’re ready

we’ll hold it in return

and watch the spiral

of warm smoke

rise to the sky.

.

.

© 2018  Betty Hayes Albright 

.

Photo from Pixabay

Read Full Post »

.

Late at night

after she washes her face

and slips from her dress

.

she becomes a teardrop

quaking with grief

on the tip of God’s tongue.

.

But there —

see how the light

shines through.

.

.

©  2018  Betty Hayes Albright 

.

Read Full Post »

.

cats carved by Arlie

.

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.

.

When you grew up

you had your own cars and trucks

and never failed to wave

and beep your horn

when you drove away.

.

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.

.

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.

.

.

©  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

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

.

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

Read Full Post »

.

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.

.

.

©  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

Read Full Post »

Corner

.

She pouts in a corner

it seems

the gods play rough

.

at times

crushing her breath

into a knot

.

pulling her head-first

through a barrel

of tear-salt

.

staining her face

with keens

shoulders wracked

.

it should have been me

I’m old

he was young.

 .

She folds

into a corner

when the gods play rough.

.

.

©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

 

.

Read Full Post »

.

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.

.

.

©  2015, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

.

Read Full Post »

.

seagull pendant

.

I wear the old necklace

a gift from my son

.

he tells me

  to stop saying

  if only and should’ve

 .

he bought it

with his pizza money

.

it was nobody’s fault

   he says.

   I want to believe

.

his heart was young

and vital then

.

he would’ve hated

   the hospital with all

   those tubes and machines

.

whenever I wore it

he was proud and happy

.

the coroner said

   it was probably quick

   which was a blessing

.

like a pewter seagull

soaring.

.

 .

©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

.

 

Read Full Post »

.

709px-Mount_Rainier_5917s

.

A simple thing

to scatter his ashes

one would think

but Mt. Rainier

will never be

the same.

.

©  2017  Betty Hayes Albright

.

Image of Mt. Rainier from Wikipedia Commons

.

Read Full Post »

32 years ago today, Mt. St. Helens erupted in Washington State, killing 57 people, including one of my dearest friends, her husband, and her two young children. Barb was always full of laughter, always saw the funny side of life.

.

The poem below was written shortly after her death:

.

Mount St. Helens erupted on May 18, 1980, at 0...

Mt. St. Helens on May 18, 1980

.

.

(In memory of Barb Pierce Morris Seibold, 1947 – 1980)

 .

You laughed above the heads

of those who couldn’t see

your wings,

but those of us with vision

always flew along with you.

Even in the rain

you’d soar above the mud

with a smile and a wink.

 .

But just this once

your takeoff was too slow.

St. Helens grabbed you

in her smoky claws,

and with one spicy belch

she burned your wings away….

 .

I found a bird

the cat brought in,

buried it

in forget-me-nots.

I heard your laughter

rising from the dust

and then it flew

to the curlicue clouds.

.

.

(c)1980, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

.

For another “Barb” poem (written 2-1/2 months before she died):  https://raindancepoetry.wordpress.com/2011/08/28/down-moon-river-on-a-cement-slab/

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: