I carried death in a box.
My mother’s last request,
to be buried at sea; her gray life
spread against the waves.
My dad, too, long ago, fallen.
Suicide, his cancer eating him alive,
foreclosed the day, bankrupted away;
still wanders these dark waters, waiting
for her return to the deep green pools.
…………………I say goodbye,
then gently fold her in the sea.
So many years ago it seems eternity.
I was only a child then, not yet a man,
and yet, there was something old in me,
something I knew was there, down deep
inside of me, a channeling power
so strange and alive, a voice
that spoke not to me but through me,
its life my own, disquieting and free.
So many things wander through us,
connections come and go,
we like some black engine,
charge up the day, break
fierce across the stark cold light
like angels on the mend
seeking paths from this dark temptation:
a way back into those distant lands
we fell from; a place that is
and is not our home and Eden.
It’s come to this, a subtle kiss,
our destiny with each other.
We live each day knowing
surely it is the best, and yet
we tend toward other days,
remembrances of those dark traceries
that capture us, lure us
toward certain disquieting,
where memories cross
our former lives, and we
like fallen angels hold steady course
to those narratives that blind us
from these harsh truths:
the bare blunt acknowledgment
of that unfolding life we live
and are becoming with each other.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.