Marigolds for Saly

 

If emptiness could have a weight, I'll swear that losing you was the heaviest type of empty there ever was.

- H.Blair

 

 

We were the solemn biannual procession,

shrouded in black, tears pulling at the organization

of our faces as we carried the flowers to

Mount Sinai. There was the night eight years ago,

when we lay awake in anticipation, watching 7th Heaven

reruns and Scary Movie; the phone rang,

and we were glad to have another sister. The

dark memories rise and shuffle forward,

like hired mourners delivering last blessings,

and showed us moments where she limped

and anemia rang in our ears like bells with

nueroblastoma and the cancer that took her; the

world spun downhill after that.

 

We remember her when we pray in the eves

and recite her favorites, and there are the bittersweet

moments in remembrance when the realization

of time we lost cannot grant her last wishes

to paint pictures with dad and walk again -- she

lives in everything; the shoes she last wore,

the leatherbound book she fell in love with;

I can see her face in the clouds.

 

The winds are bare and shameless, wiping at our faces,

and the tulips cower in our hands, faces sagging

like emptied sacks; the marigolds are strong, autumn-faced

blooms, smiling in spite of the rain. And amongst the gossamer

remains of the flowers we left in May,

we lay the marigolds for Saly.

Reviews

[deeps]

Such a longing and full of emotion write here.
Well expressed and written.