Letters To The Dead

My breath gives wing to written words that travel straight from me to you.

Dear Mom,

 

Those words are so, so foreign to me.

Forgive me if I regret the loss.

Two felled branches from the same tree,

it was destined that our paths would cross.

I know you were tethered to a cloud,

suspended between heaven and hell,

broken inside but so sweetly proud.

It is a story that I know well.

 

Leaves are falling, absolving your pain.

The land is awash in rustic tones.

I hear the pitter-patters of rain

as it runs a bath to bathe your bones.

I know how you tired, eager to fall

like a bird wounded without a nest

where none could touch you, no one at all.

Sweet arms of death have given you rest.

 

The house is bare and whispers no more.

The ghost of memories haunts me now.

I blow out the past, unlatch the door,

bid you leave me though I don’t know how.

Curtains are drawn; a link has been torn.

I wish you the love you never gave,

wish you the wish I’d never been born,

if it would raise you from out the grave.

 

The end is bitter; the end is sweet.

The end is leafing in autumn veins.

The end is where we shall once more meet

if there is a god who so ordains.

I wish you the softest, deepest rest;

the quiet poignance of sleeping sound;

a host of good, beautifully blessed,

as you lie sleeping in hallowed ground.

 

Dear Dad,

 

I weep for having never known you.

You left too soon I am sad to say.

I know that mom was wrong and untrue,

and you decided to walk away.

You took your life and left me behind,

shattered my soul for all of these years.

You broke my heart and troubled my mind.

I am a water well filled with tears.

 

You were twenty-three, and I was four!

I have no memories of your face.

Ten days before Christmas, the front door

closed behind you with no tracks nor trace.

You drove like the wind into that tree,

snapping your neck like a thirsty twig,

left me fatherless, ever to be

an empty vessel, a whirligig.

 

I have no sense of where I belong.

I am deep rooted in ghosts and grief.

I love the most those who did me wrong,

who stole sweet happiness like a thief.

I cannot tell you the emptiness,

the grey-eyed mourning of flesh and bone,

the desolation of nothingness,

the unmarked grave where you slept alone.

 

I will never get to dance with you.

We ended before we had a start;

and when my life is over and through,

you will remain inside of my heart.

My signature proudly sings your name

though no children will ever wear it.

We are one blood, eternal, the same.

I am your daughter.  Yes.  I swear it.

 

Dear Mom & Dad,

 

I will always be your little girl,

your epitaph written in spirit,

a speck in the spectrum of a pearl,

a tiny voice if you can hear it.

I gather bright stars and blackest night,

let them flow from the tip of my pen,

harvest my heart into rays of light

shining ever and ever, Amen!    

Author's Note

Reviews

[Patricia Wedel]

dearest Linda Marie.. I also live in Virginia by the Rappahannock River. My story is quite similar to yours in many ways. My father’s Lover put him in an unmarked Grave. I placed Snap Dragons in many Colors on his Grave. He loved Shakespeare and had a Breakdown studying Religion… hence there is a Deepness in me to this day. I understand your Grieving. My Mother was seventeen when she gave Birth to me. She passed at fifty-eight of Cancer. I am Aging for both She and myself… Gracefully I believe… tenderly, Pat

[softlyfall]

hug hug hug hug hug

[Patricia Wedel]

You have tugged at my 💜 May your days be blessed… softly, Pat

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Patricia. Thankfully, I was able to purchase a marker for his grave. Once I found it in that state, there was no way that I could leave it that way. It was really the only thing that I could do for him. It's sad that any child should ever know such suffering. I am sorry that you went through much the same. Best wishes, Linda.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This is so sad it wrenches tears from the eyes. You know old men never cry but their eyes do sweat sometimes. This poem scratches at scars left behind on the soul, breaking the once covered wound fresh and anew. I wish there was a way to bind up all our wounds...a way to cover and protect them from our picking conscience that will not let them be. But maybe the pain born fresh in us is only a reminder (whether joy or guilt I cannot tell) that we are alive; that we survive and endure. And perhaps that is the greatest legacy we can bestow to those who came before. Powerful writing, my friend.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Fabian. Nothing that I write about is more meaningful nor more painful to me so I am happy that you chose to comment on this poem. As poets, I feel like we dress our wounds with poetry. When the bandage falls off, we cannot help but write of the scars left behind. It's our way of healing over time.

[Soren]

This poem took me on a journey. The love for someone unknown to you but you are a piece of. I feel this loss for all those that I might have met but did not and for those I could never have met. So many people that might have been relationships, each with their own story. I feel the pain you express in this but you carry both your parents with you in who you are. Very well written, not only in form but in the rhyme scheme

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you for reading and reviewing, Soren. I really appreciate your thoughts on the poem.

[Red Brick Keshner]

My father's ashes lie in an urn that sits on a console of a feature wall of his second wife's dwelling. There is still a plot and a marker to be arranged, in a way he is not yet truly gone. But the absence is there all the same. My mother is aging and becoming more and more incoherent by the day. So the roller coaster ride has gone its full turn and about to enter another. Grieving comes in many forms and shapes and journeys. It is a blessing that poetry is one of them and a good one at that. TFS.

[Scott Kris]

I read this as if I am a child reading about a place I have never visited. Even at 52 years old, I have never tasted the loss of a dear loved one. It is coming soon... I have thought about it much. I find death is often romanticized by those who find peace and often created into some monstrosity by those who always fear death. Yet I have observed how much it impacts others in my life. I see how real and inescapable death is for all of us.
Here, you simply share a perspective and a transparent look at one souls attempt to make sense of death and herself relating to the specific death of specific loved ones... for death is not a common speech spoken in the same tongue by all. Each time for each soul, death speaks a language only one can know if ever even one can understand.

Thank you for sharing this impactful write.

[Coyote Poetry]

Dear Linda. A powerful and worthwhile poem. Thank you for expressing what we learn. Death make us look so deep at life, at us and how we bleed. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Coyote.

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome dear Linda.

[light and ashes]

How utterly heart-breaking!!! My heart weeps for you! This is very well written, and I was able to feel the poignant feelings you expressed.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you so much. Your words mean so much. Thank you for reading.

[light and ashes]

You are so very welcome, dear heart!

[beauitifulybroken]

This is such a touching piece of art, I can't express how much this touched my soul. It brought tears to my eyes. You painted such a vivid and tragic picture that is so beautiful, yet heartbreaking.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you. I'm glad that it resonated with you. That means a lot to me.

[willweb]

Wow, "two felled branches from the same tree". This line alone, early in your amazing poem started to bring tears to my eyes. I read and felt and wished the same wishes but wishes aren't ever enough it seems. Your talent shines, even on a clouded day, it is bright and needs to be seen, felt and read. Beautiful yet sad sentiments in this amazing piece of writing Linda. Thank you for sharing.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

No, thank you. Thank you for reading and for allowing yourself to feel my words. That is one of the highest compliments ever.

[softlyfall]

Your poem resonates with understanding and compassion and, most importantly, forgiveness. That is so much healthier than resentment or anger. That, alone, is an achievement in recovery from childhood trauma. I suffered extreme emotional neglect as an infant and child- my son and I were just talking yesterday about how we continue to heal from childhood pain all of our lives, even now in my life I am working things out in my mind, coming to s place of peace and even gratitude.
Be kind and patient with children. No child deserves pain.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I agree. It has been a long path to get to where I am today. Thank you for reading.

[Lydia Shutter]

Haunting emotion in this one, Linda. I truly hope that writing these letters has been a catharsis for you. The love you so freely gave to both your parents is stunning to me after what the circumstances of their relationship did to you. Such an honest outpouring in this well written one, Linda. Brava! Lydi**

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Lydi. It's nice to be at this point in my life. Were the feelings not within me, I could have never put them into words. Thank you for reading.