Tuesday, May 2, 2006

edit 1

Standing at the Seashore
feeling the empty

My head is concrete with the knowledge,
my son is gone,
a long six feet out of reach,
but in my chest,
it's like standing in the ocean.

When I'm still, the waves sneak in
steal the sand from beneath my feet
force me to shuffle,
remind myself,
regain my balance,
lose him all over again.

Sometimes, when my feet have sunk into
the void of diremembrance,
he's still here, and my breath catches
somewhere around my belly button
and waits to meet my heart
as it falls backwards into realization.

He is in everything,
everything but his crib and my arms,
and they ache
with the acceptance of
beauty and emptiness.

I close my eyes, unsure,
and count the rises of his chest
forgetting that he's gone,
remembering the warmth reality stole.

All that's left is
the empty.


  1. Krisstanamus10:46 AM

    Remember,.....Remember.....I remind mysoef of this daily. Not that ii is easy to fortget but sometimes its hard to....Remember.
    Your words are beautiful...

  2. Except for the point, the still point,
    there would be no dance,
    and there is only the dance.

    --TS Eliot

  3. PS and what would we ever do without the dance that is poetry? Without the words that give substance to things invisible to the eye?