[This is a repost of a poem written in 2005 (see Author's Note below). In this poem, I was trying to envision how my cousin might see and feel the death of her small child.] "You do not have to sit outside in the dark. If, however, you want to look at the stars, you will find that darkness is necessary. But the stars neither require nor demand it."
- Annie Dillard -

What do I do with this death?

It feeds on my soul
like a lion on fresh prey.

This innocence lost
gashes my heart.
I fall into this wound's abyss
flailing with an anger
that clings like napalm.
Will its dark pigment
seep into my marrow?

How long will I wander
this desert of grief
lost in brambled confusion
grasping for a twig of meaning?

Sometimes I hear a sound so faint
I cannot sense its source.
Like the tinkling of a piano
or the first feel of pregnancy
and its hint of new life.

In the midst of my feeble efforts
to find the routines
that make a life bearable,
trying to delude myself
that I have control,
I have moments of light.

I see a little boy swinging a lantern.
He is patient and waits for me.
On both sides of my upward path
are shadowy fences.
The sticky fingers of death
poke through them.

Images of a child's squirmy life
pop into my head
soon to be drowned
by nightmares.

But still..

there is the twinkling
of that boy and his lantern up the lane.
My hand grips my lover's,
our eyes full of tears
that magnify the tinkling
spreading it in our fields
like seeds,
kernels of sacred fire
that inspire and invite
us beyond the darkness
that surrounds us.

Now I know…

the only way
through this somber thicket
will be keen vision,
intentional listening,
determination to pause
and linger in the present moment,
in that sacred space
beyond fear and blame
beyond doubt and rage,
in the meadow
of the eternal now
of Being
in Love.

Written 06/08/2005

04/23/2018

Author's Note: Author's Note: Dedicated to Lane Michael Leger [June 17, 2004 - May 27, 2005] and the parents, Jacob and Kelly, whom he left to help the rest of us see what it means to find light in the darkness. Kelly is my second cousin and at the time of writing this poem, she and her husband and family were coping with the tragic death of their 11 month old son, Lane. Please remember them in your thoughts prayers. Thanks to Annie Dillard for the opening quote from her book: Teaching a Stone to Talk, p. 31. If you are interested how this poem reflects my writing process, see the last section of this page: https://pathetic.org/spotlight.php?c_mmyy=0705 Originally posted on 06/08/2005

Posted on 04/23/2018
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