Voices

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

One Comment

  1. 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.

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