Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged corner, death, grief, loss, Love, poem, Poetry, son on January 2, 2018| 46 Comments »
.
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
.
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged Arlie, death, grief, heart failure, loss, Love, pendant, poem, Poetry, seagull, son, spirituality, transcendence, transformation on September 7, 2017| 80 Comments »
.
.
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
.
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged birthday, Children, death, grief, immortality, life, music, nature, parenthood, poem, Poetry, son, spirituality, wind chime on July 28, 2017| 40 Comments »
.
.
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.
.
© 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(For my late son Arlie, who would be turning 45 on July 29th)
.
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged child, death, grief, heartache, life, Love, memories, poem, Poetry, son on July 15, 2017| 35 Comments »
.
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.
.
(c) 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
.
Arlie in 2008
.
.
1973 – Happy days. Arlie sitting on his great-grandmother’s lap with older brother Jason.
Posted in Poetry 2010 - present, tagged circle of life, death, grieving, keening, lullaby, pain, poem, Poetry, son on May 28, 2017| 64 Comments »
.
To my son Arlie, (1972 – May 25, 2017)
.
Now I understand
the keening wail,
the rocking forwards,
backwards
so different
from the lullaby
the cradling
from long ago.
It’s forward, release,
forward
release
the pain
as it bursts through
a damn
in the solar plexus.
.
The medics came
from experience
guessing it was a heart attack.
He had keened
his own losses
too many times.
We rock and release,
rock
and release
the keening wail,
the keening wheel
that won’t stop turning
around and around
and around.
.
(c) 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
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Seasonings 