Here's a Surprise!

My beloved Allen has died.  I am shrouded in grief.  As I thumb through a book of songs while planning his funeral, a loose piece of sheet music falls into my lap.  How?  From where?  It’s a song I’d written for my church community many years ago called “Don’t Get Sick on an Unripe Tomorrow.”  Clearly, this is not meant for Allen’s funeral.  It is meant for me.  I mull over the lyrics and play it again and again on the piano.  It becomes a source of great comfort.

Meanwhile some dear friends and family give me books about grief and grieving.  I haven’t felt ready to read them, but imagine my surprise when lines from some of my own poems begin floating into my head at odd times.

From “La Muerte”
Old Mother Death sits / down beside me. / Neither cruel nor kind / she does not take, she receives.

From “Buying Time”
Each life makes its arc / then glides out of time / slipping all ties.  Pain dies. / Desire dies.  Gone, / the humming dread of what waits beyond breath.

From “Holding”
I loosen my grip,/ let him slip from my grasp // knowing, somehow, he’s still held // and not only he but we—… // we are, all of us / held.

From “Upheaval”
[…death has] struck / shattering everything fragile / collapsing carefully crafted structures… / Their familiar terrain disrupted / all learn to tread carefully.

From “Griefs, Like Nesting Bowls”
No church, priest or liturgy here / just battered souls / in silent communion.

From “The Poet’s Job”
Their poems may end on the ash heap / though the divine combustion / has been known to light up a city / or, like a disposable penlight, / guide one or two souls down / the dark path / to their own door.

The idea of my own poems leading me back to my own door—it’s breathtaking really.