Linda

POETRY IS WHAT THE SOULS OF THE ANCIENTS SPEAK TO THOSE STILL SEEKING WHAT IS MOST BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD. FROM: LINDA

Tuesday, December 5, 2017




Urn

I clutch tightly
your urned cremains.
If I put them down
you might disappear.
I put them in triple layered plastic bags
while I shower.
Strap them into the car seat
ever so snugly,
carry them into the store,
in that very large beach bag
that now serves as my purse,
when I can make myself buy food to eat.
At night, with you beside me
I dream of our life together,
careful not to knock you off the bed
to be scattered.
That I could not bear.
I recall the reasons I’ve loved you;
the magnitude of your heart
for all things living,
your capacity to forgive
both my naive foolishness and my purposeful obstinacy,
your feverish defense of truth and justice.
There is much to cherish.
And while the way I am acting may seem strange,
there is a method to my madness.
If I hold this reliquary
close enough to me,
perhaps you will reappear.

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