An evening of Myth and Poetry

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Searching for Words
​What to say
to a dear, dear man
when his mother has gone?

I could say,
"I'm sorry,"
and I am
for the loss of a mother
cuts soul-deep.

But it feels so trite,
so not enough.

I could say,
"It's a blessing
that her suffering has ended."

This is truly the gift
that death has for us all.

But it feels insincere,
I, not having been present
in her difficulties,
and he doesn't need to hear this
spoken one more time
among many.

I could say,
in her own vernacular,
"She's gone to be with God,
sitting at his right hand
in the kingdom of Heaven."

But it feels patronizing.
Though she wished it had been,
her tradition is not his
as it is not mine,

And the words would be empty,
one of the things you say
at times like these
but no comfort
to a non-believer.

All I can say,
and what I will say,
is that I am here,
holding space for him
through my mountain day,

Space for his grieving,
for his strength,

Space also for his patience
and for his impatience,
as well as for his tolerance

In this time of
relatives,
and ceremony,
and uncomfortable conversation,

Space for his deep-heart time,
with the others
who miss her.

I will say
that I am here for him
to ask of me
whatever he needs
or for him to ask
nothing at all.

Mostly I will say,
"I love you"
in this time
and in every other
and beyond that,

there is nothing to say. 

                                ©2016 Annette Meserve​
                          



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February 1, 2017  in Trinidad, CO

annette meserve writing storyteller poet author fiction flash short stories novels

Poetry