one more small loss in the immense field of losses
the orange koi survived the embers
weathered the flames
withstood the ash
through it all they swam circles
in the little stone pond
but the day came when the bulldozer
rumbled and scraped and wrought
smooth dirt where their little depression had been
some things are not survivable
not all allegories have happy ends
now this earth bears
their quiet little bodies, too
saying goodbye to a little spark
he’s all in red
toddling quickly and confidently
telling us all of his favorite things
and we all have smiles
and pained expressions
because none of us care enough
to stop what will happen next
koimeterion
driving past the burn today
I finally name what it evokes in me –
cemetery:
the structures low to the ground
the winding streets now going nowhere
the arboretum of cultivated trees
the metal shapes like iron railings
delineating a family plot
so many memories interred
in each rectangular basement-crypt
nearly everything gone to ashes already
from the Greek word for sleeping place
where souls once breathed quiet midnight dreams
(or tossed fitfully, as it may be)
now there’s only the eerie absence of an old life gone
Annie’s Story
when her 8-year-old son kept saying
I don’t want to die today
she calmly explained
that wouldn’t happen
they were safe
the fire was a long way away
they would leave if it ever got close
a few hours later
trapped in gridlock
with the smoke plumes getting darker
her family split between
different cars and departure times and friends
she’s nearly overcome by the unbearableness of
stasis in the midst of terror
jammed in this long line of sitting ducks
straddling gas tanks
so she asks the traffic control lady
if she’s still going the best way,
and the lady shakes her head and says,
there are a lot of people getting hurt up there
(which later proved to be false,
but then she’d no way to know)
afraid to learn exactly how close the flames are now
she wills herself not to check the messages on her phone
instead she calls her National Guard brother
pleading for him to find her an exit
thinking to herself
I don’t want to die today
but even with his emergency ops experience
and all the info he is calm enough to marshal
all her brother can tell her is stay where she is –
north is the only way
now she says, everyone miraculously safe,
things aren’t the same
sometimes it’s like my nervous system is outside my body
she says
like there is no buffer between the world and me
I will never leave my husband’s side in an emergency again
she says
I wanted us to be together if something happened
I will never wait for an evacuation order again
she says
by the time they order you it’s too late
the roads are packed solid
I’m glad I took my rings
but I didn’t really need my wedding photos –
more of those exist
my main regret is I didn’t grab my grandmother’s box
it goes between my mom and uncles
so they have turns with her memories
my mom had loaned it to me
and I would have let them down
if I’d let it burn
one of the hardest moments was
picking up my daughter from her friend’s.
she asked me if our home was gone
and all I could say was
I don’t know
It wasn’t
I’m one of the lucky ones
and I’m still crying every day
checking the names
my index finger ticks down the names
and finds another family I know
but more than that, there’s the grief
distilled in the very action
so many fingers traced down so many lists
stopped and shaken by what they touch
or who they learn they’ll not touch again
such hope and desperation in this act
caressing the lines that make the letters
that spell out someone’s fate
missing mom
a friend asks
where is this young raw
I want my Mommy energy
coming from?
I rewind
when did I feel this way before?
third grade
I lost her for 5 weeks
while Grandy battled cancer
endured surgery
survived (just barely)
and all we could do
was talk on the phone
maybe this is one small part
of my crying need now
the current fear of death
wrapped up with the past threat
of losing my dear grandfather
and mom
in different ways all at once
the exhaustion
of trying to be strong and good and selfless
while also just wanting to be
hugged and held
told with certainty that things will be alright
that I wasn’t losing her forever
I remember the sudden understanding
of all she did for me
the terror that it could all be gone
and me undoubtedly unable
to handle things alone
the desperate missing
of her protective physical self
we all know
I was different when she returned:
kind caring compassionate
suffused with gratitude
I learned what I had taken for granted
in our family
where mother-love is not a given
she wrapped us in love beyond question
beyond hoping for
I still don’t want to do without it
and don’t yet know
how I’ll change this time
some words for when there are no words
I wish I could take away this pain
the senselessness of your immeasurable loss
I wish the day could be done over
and life could go on
without the color drained out
I wish all your warm bodies
were home safe in bed
I wish you weren’t now being asked
to do the near-impossible:
to go on waking and walking
making breakfast and holding your children
convincing them that things will
one day be okay
whether or not you believe it
I wish you were bored with
the mundane certainty of tomorrow
rather than peering down
a dark tunnel of echoes
holding your racing heart
dreading what’s next
may rock strengthen you
water soothe you
air breathe for you
fire keep the light burning
in your chest and eyes
may all beings in your path
pause and reach deep into their pockets
to hand to you
some of their very own
extra fragments of hope
endless knot
one year after his death
not much new has come to light
except a few photos
including one of my mother and him
tender, both in Irish sweaters,
as if it were all meant to be
as if things once fit
even as if one might trace
the complicated thread uniting
all our lives
follow along its convoluted loops
and one day see the whole thing
through the distance of time
to find an intricate Celtic knot
then believe/understand that it was all
part of the plan
that sculpted the landscape of now
tugged us into the beings we’ll be
wove us into shapes
that will someday make us able
to give what’s needed
without worrying why
After I wrote this I found a photographer who was willing to take a picture of the weeping cherry tree, but it had already dropped its blooms. Maybe next year… Thanks to Rozanne Lee Anderson-Moreland for the photos.
weeping cherry
the most thoughtful gift
I’ve ever been given
she was a First Communion miracle
planted just for me
8 years old
our heights about matched
we grew up together
her hot pink flowers lit up the spring
and one year when she was little
robins nested in the heart of her crown
I never named her
five years later we grew apart
divorce took me to a smaller home
without a tree to call my own
but I still visited
still had a claim on that piece of earth
now, with my father gone,
the house and tree
willed to his wife,
she’s another thing I could lose any day
if I could have anything from that home place
I’d take a photo of her now
in marvellous bloom
higher than the house
also perpetual permission to trespass
to lay my bones down
on Walnut Creek shale
whenever it calls
our shared grief
in this lonely time of loss
each of us locked away
in our own sorrow
the future a grey haze
uncertainty dusting everything
we do or say like fine ash
the fear of dying alone
(our death or a beloved’s)
with no hand to hold
no last pressure between worlds
the one consolation is
our shared grief –
that you know a bit
of what I must say no to
without me opening my lips
for maybe the only time
our hearts share this unsaid knowing
that we would each gladly
take this away from the other
I want to splash warm red
and the smell of cinnamon
into your scene
let you remember
how spontaneous laughter feels
light the way forward for you
at least a few steps
