send us on our way
Certain things will never save you again.
Poems about loss should end. Change their verbs
to ones of joy, remind us how passion
is still our birthright; that nothing disturbs
grief more than passion. Ask any widow
left in Palestine, Israel, any
who can mourn, who can see the sun, follow
its long arch but feel no heat; ask why we
need one more poem about grief? Loving
grief is easy. Owning passion is hard.
Tonight let us celebrate our dismay
and grief. Say, mabrook, you are a blessing
to me. Laugh with grief. Dance in the courtyard
with it. Kiss it, then send it on its way.
April 2nd, 2007 at 10:06 am
This one is beautiful, my friend.
Owning passion is indeed hard. . . and I have laughed with. . . or at. . . grief as well.
This poem touches me in a lot of ways. It’s like I’ve been through the thought process before. Well done, in my humble opinion.