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.

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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.