It feels so strange, this
first time.
So many days
have passed, that dust
could gather on the shelf around
her image?
Taking up a fraction
of a sock, I dab and wipe away
accumulated haze.
I lose track
of the moments as I hold her
in my blurred and aching
gaze.
And a knowledge that
this unaccustomed sight -- left hand with
this framed photograph aloft,
the passing over,
under of a freshly dampened cloth -- will
come to join the steady
number of my lifetime's repetitious motions
enters my sore mind like it were swallowing
a stone.
Who can tell me? Who can
tell me now what it will mean
then - when the hand that lifts
the frame is frail,
the wrinkled rag that clears the dust
moves slowly, rocks with tremor - to
remember her?
Jason Myers-Benner
2008
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1 comment:
I certainly don't have the answer, but I really do believe that reflecting on this precious time with Nora will be less painful at some time in the future. That will not mean that your love for her has in any way diminished. That will never change.
Dad
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