Lamentation

As tenderly
as I carried my babies
I carried your tools
out to the garage.
These daily reminders
of your absence
remained where last collected--
abandoned, just as life
abandoned you.

Your strong, broad, but gentle hands
will touch them no more.
Your strong, broad but gentle hands
will touch me no more.

The dark settles in, a winter dark
abrupt, gray, cold
You are not here, your hands
gray, cold, gone.

Your strong, broad, but gentle hands
were your true tools--
and they, they can touch me
no more.

May 1998
North Kingstown, RI

 

~Return To "Losing"