Tuesday, November 1, 2005

The Well

The Well - 55 Word Poem

He still anticipates her homecoming,
four irrational years later.
He's still blinded
by the brilliance of her smile.

It's in his pocket now -
a worn out lucky coin he fingers
as he walks life's shadowed streets.

He'll toss it, make a wish;
he'll realize
he can't take it with him,

But not today.

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  1. "four irrational years later" struck a chord deep in my heart, and makes me yearn to write something at least semi-poetic about the way the loss of my dad feels to me, because I know I'm not a freak--he was IMPORTANT, darn it. I am NOT crazy for grieving for a mere year, I'm NOT.

    I want to write about it like this. Like "four irrational years." Any pointers?

    Thank you for this, and so much more.

  2. Lovely bits in this poem, especially "four irrational years later". Added this too.

  3. Thank you both! This piece was supposed to be prose, but had a bit of its own mind. Glad you 2 enjoyed it!

    And no Belinda - one years is not a freakish amount of time to mourn, most people mourn in way or another, for years. It's just that making it through this first year is the worst, the hardest, and the first anniversary often makes it seem brand new all over again.

    You're not crazy, your grieving. It comes without directions, or rules, because there's really no wrong way to do it.

  4. Erin, This is cool. I really dig the ending.

    Belinda, the intentsity may seem to cease, but there is no line, no stopping point. It merely manifests into different shapes, different forms.

  5. When I read this it made me think of a Yellowhammers tune that my buddy Gary's band plays called, "Ten Years."

    "For the first ten years she prayed, that he'd come home...
    and for the next ten years she prayed,
    that he won't."

    Same phrase struck me as it did the earlier people, E. SOrry for not being around lately. Hugs and prayers, hon.