Friday, January 18, 2019

Now That You’re Gone (Day 730)

Poetry isn't a profession, it's a way of life...
an empty basket; you put your life into it 
and make something out of that. 
— Mary Oliver (1935 – 2019)

I don’t know what to say to you 
now that you’re gone. 
Never did I assume we’d meet, yet 
your presence was a warm blanket 
on a cold night, your voice a chorus 
of bells dancing lightly across 
a snowy morning. When I forgot 
the perfection of the everyday, 
I turned to you. Your words 
offered the warmth of a familiar 
embrace, the companionship of 
a wise friend. You were inscrutable. 
Inimitable. Cheerfully, delightfully 
unattainable. Out of sight, 
you were often out of mind. 
And then, like spring’s first crocus, 
there you’d be, delighting me 
all over again, reminding me of all 
the reasons why this world is 
worth the pain, worth living in, 
worth dying for. And so, you did. 
And, now that you are gone, 
I don’t know what to say anymore.

(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Claude Monet, The Magpie
via Wikimedia Commons

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