Heal Yet, Flowers

Oh! But I did not see you there,
and I have traipsed across your
petal faces, and how rude of me.
I cannot undo my stepping,
the breaking of your slender
necks, a snapping of my
clumsy step.

You’ve been thirsty under a merciless noon sun, held through
the biting frosts, and despite your
tribulations, you have not
succumb to time or weather,
yet I have done a great disservice to
you, parting from the paved trail.

I can help you stand a bit.
Lean your sagging heads against
your sisters’ leafy arms and rest.

Heal yet, flowers.
Be well again.
May my treason be undone.
Bless each one of you,
unopposed and unprotected.

To My First Daughter

(This poem is somewhat inspired by Ben Jonson’s “On My First Daughter”.
I lost my own first daughter on April 25, 2012. Rest in peace, Xoe. As Ben says, “Cover lightly gentle earth.”)

Can I touch what isn’t there
feel some alternate dimension?
Can you feel me from your grave
wishing to just hold you?

I have so long hoped to relive
the day you had departed
wanting to say something more
than repeating my apologies.

More than anything I yearned
to know you as a mother would,
see you grow beside your siblings,
run with sunshine in your hair,
and crawling to my side when you
want comfort
like I want comfort, now.

Tell me Jonson did not weep
when making his children immortal.
Capturing pain is only part of the picture, learning how to weave it is the challenge.