It’s been the kind of night (s) where I say goodnight to her in my mind, then out loud, because I feel her in the air. It’s the kind of morning today where she is still here, profoundly here. I haven’t dismantled the poster photos from her service yet, so I can be with them, to avoid putting them in a place tucked away. I haven’t sent the eulogy to requested love ones (I will
, promise) only because I am putting off permanency, I think. This poem came published this week, after long delay, right on time. I wrote it after we were at Wyncote for dinner together watching the sunset. It’s about her now…That’s the story I’ll tell myself. She rises…everyday, simply from a new place, where I can feel her triumphant light. 
No comments:
Post a Comment