First Kiss

 

The team rushed you off, out of sight.
Steady stream of commands then
hissing, suctioning
machines. Filtration of fear all around. 

No one said a word to me.  No eye contact.
I closed my eyes, didn’t ask, didn’t look,
mumbled, Please God, before oblivion.

I could see you from time to time
Through panels of glass and the hum
of your breathing machine.  Lights blinding.
You were too vulnerable and dependent
on machines, wires, and tape.

Finally you were brought into my darkened

room. The blue clad nurses an entourage

coming to see the reunion
of mother and miracle child. 

You looked strong, wondrously made

ten fingers, ten toes, all the right appendages.
They handed you to me.

I engulfed you in my arms, couldn’t see
for tears, but I found your precious cheek. 
That kiss has lasted my lifetime.

Charcoal Days

*Photo credit: Keith R. Good.(Photos by Keith Good Facebook Community Page)

Memory glimpses – stark,

a charcoal sketch. I see
the scene, bare trees,
dormant, death reaching up.
Grass, just shreds of itself,
green gone, done, dark,
dead.

I said Mama, the grass died.

Heart sick, I look to her.
She said not dead, it comes
back.  Years of winter disbelief -
but spring came and I did
see. 

I live in a place where grass

does not die, doesn’t give up,
where trees leaf all year.
Hope of Spring comes,
brings expectation. I wait
for winter to give up.
I wait for my son to come
home.

 

Craziness

 

Mother with son --

each gesture noted.
Will envy ever leave?

It’s not true then…

home is a haven.
Will my searching end now?

New Year begins.

It’s still not over.
Will he always be dead?

((A Questionku. New short poem form from Richard Lamourex)

Always

What gathers the wind will bring you to me
in a breeze or a touch from a limb against my skin.
Not of here, somewhere in between you and me,
a place I only get glimpses of when you are near.

I see your gift when an insect appears,

your message in a penny heads up.
I no longer question.  To be a part of this-- I feel,
or you will be gone before I have a complete thought.

I hear your voice when the door opens, feel your presence.

I heard what you told me when I walked in the dark wet night,
though no words were spoken.
My tympanic drum is tuned to your whispers.

I sense you in every way..gentle and true
I don’t share except with those who love you, too.
I would not dishonor you or your memory

by telling our secrets to people who can’t see.

Vision in a Baseball Cap

At dusk I see the shape of you against the waning day,

 a thin haze

of you drifts by, a vision in a baseball cap.

Your vague image answers a question I don’t know how to ask.

The answer will lull

me enough so that I can sleep tonight.

I can pray for an appearance in my dreams, but I know now

unanswered prayer

is an agony I should spare myself.

Your Presence

Today at lunch in the outdoor café

I hear your laugh but don’t turn.
Summer salad with strawberries,
walnuts, and romaine fills my plate.
My fork finds its way to each perfect bite.

I hear your laugh again, hear the two of you

talking about your classes and the girl
you met at the Ray’s game.  I order
white zinfandel and dark bread so I can sit
until you laugh again.  You say, I’ve got this, Mom!

My tears mingle with the raspberry vinaigrette.

You walk out with your arm resting on her shoulder.
The pain moves into the pit of my stomach
as I drink deeply and see you through the pink fluid.
I’m thankful you have blonde hair, and you aren’t tall.

I Want To Go Home

I want to go home I said at the funeral. I don't know why.

I said it at home with husband at my side. You are home,

he said over and over. I didn't believe him. I've said the same
thing for over ten years.I really do want to go home. I

remember how warm, how full, how happy and carefree
my home was. This is our final move he tells me now.

This is home till we die.
I don't believe him.

Hour Before Dawn

 
The hour before dawn

I lie awake, half dream world,

half reality. I long to stay

one more

hour, one minute. Why must

I be pummeled and crushed

by reality each morning.

In the hour before dawn

I want the dream.

The Estate

Acceptance is a place,

an estate arrived at by

many paths that twist

and turn, lots of switch backs,

pits,  and mountains to climb.

The way there bought by

work, tears, pain, and grief

but at the end of the road is that

elusive estate of beauty, serene

countenance, and peace of mind.

Acceptance is a place, come sit

at my table, I’ll share what I know

of it.  I’ll tell you of my journey.

Brian's Gifts

Never again will I fear the people, places,
or things of this world that caused me
distress. I won't be afraid to travel, fly,
drive, sail away or live my life loud.

Never again will I wonder what to do
as long as I have a computer, a functioning
mind, or a canvas and paint.I will write,
paint and create in all the forms I've

discovered since my son's death. Never
again will I see my son's face, hear his
voice, or hug him close. Though I still
grieve, I am blessed with his gifts.

A Bit of Blarney

Leprechauns, castles, good luck and laughter

Lullabies, dreams, and love ever after.

Poems and songs with pipes and drums

A thousand welcomes when anyone comes.

That's the Irish for you!...Irish Saying

This time of year we sit at rapt attention,
the kids and I, for his description of the peoples
and places of the homeland. He sings Danny Boy

as tears waft down his cheeks, then mine. He’s
proud to be an Irish Catholic, honors his heritage
from that emerald isle, sometimes dances a jig

or quotes a limerick in a thick brogue. This wealth
is not gained first hand but passed down from his
father who got it from his. He passes it down
to his boy now, who will take it to the grave.

Ghost

My son walks at my side, sometimes behind me, too.
He’ll whisper to me in the wind, or on a lady bug’s wings,
or even a penny, heads up. It all fills me with joy
when I know he’s there, and I do know.

Sometimes he’s in the wind, caressing my face and lets
me know he is there, he is here, he is with me still. He makes
me laugh like he used to, even though its through tears.

Though unable to accept that presense at first I welcome
It now after years of emptiness and longing. Such a surreal,
unsure part of him here with me. I can’t summon him, want
him hard enough, beg or plead. He comes when he thinks
I need him. Gives me beads of wisdom and crowns of joy
just for a moment, but they last always. I can summon
them up… Remember the first time he told me he was ok.
The first time he walked into my home with that laugh
that presence, that joy that was only his to give. Remember
the time he told me that he was only unhappy when I was.

I know how this sounds. I know. But I also know the truth
when I hear it, see it and feel it… it’s truth, my truth.

I WOULD

If trees were truth
I would climb them
If the mountains were glimpses
I would scale them
If the moon brought peace
I would fly there
If the sun were understanding
I would die there…