what do I do
when the mirror light stops flickering
stops watching me during the half-removal of clothes
as I spread them about the bathroom floor
trying to decipher what could be Morse code from beyond.
what do I do
when the noisy neighbors in the ash tree outside my bedroom window
cease their sunrise chatter and gamboling
and stop waking me at an ungodly hour to announce the presence of a worm or a cricket
hanging from a dark, wreathed beak
ignorant of sand in the eyes and twisted, sleepless sheets
damp with dreams and mourning.
what do I do
when the sun stops rising
and the seasons stop changing
and my heart stops beating
for all of this
So very beautiful, Karen. And such a perfect poem about the way grief continues, as the world moves forward. I am glad that you have a way to express your feelings, and in a way that speaks to many people. It is a gift.
Love you! You and the children are never far from our thoughts.