A poem I wrote upon the passing of a friend

[Alan H]

This was years ago, but sometimes people don't leave us, even when they die. Lisa was like that. I suppose I could call this poem "Requim" but that is much, much too pompous a title for who Lisa was and is.

There's no reason I posted this today, I just thought about Lisa a few minutes ago, and the poem, and decided to put it here.

********************************

I.

Where once was a woman, bright and laughing,
is now a barren, dustbowl plain. Pained in too much light
and heat, the dry grass rustles in the lonely wind
and every sound carries too far over the sterile ground.

Curtains shiver in a half-open window, the garden dries slowly.
Dust gathers upon cookware and towels.
Children play in a yard down the street;
A squad car goes by to no answer, no one calls;
someone should cry, but all the crying is far away
and the real estate agent purses her lips, she will change the decor.

Oh

I would water your garden with tears,
wash your dishes with my hands.
I would ache the wind to silence.
I would cool the heat, draw the drapes, shutter the end away.
I would take away your pain, turn on the gentle lights,
Only be here, please be here.

Come inside with me, now.
I would, I would. Please, oh.

II.

The heat cools, the wind dies to a breath. Syllables fall where they are spoken;
they lie there, and say no more.
Tomorrow comes, and comes again.
I see them stretch on, a dry road to healing. I will be fine, I will
ride my wind to faraway places,
walk in gardens with children,
touch old things that would call to your heart.


III.

Where will I find you? You must be there. I think.
Wait for me! I am blind, today
and I know nothing else.


IV.

My memories are like soapstone
slick with the groaning of my microprocessor eyes.
I mold them inaccurately, they will suit my fancies, now.
What do I owe to Intel, to miles of copper wire?
Truth is as I remember it, as my hard drive descends into oblivion.

Across the stone grain are carved your words; verdant pixels,
lost portraits, coins, a voice, a picture. A book. They melt in the groaning,
groaning, groaning. Reach through my hands, roil in my veins,
soft voice, name of blossoms,
you transcended them all.


V.

She is gone.

No words will change that. She will never come again.
We have only what we remember;
words on paper, words of wet soapstone.
Clutch those who remember, grip our selves and
cry out in our modem of agony, all as one.

She is gone. Rise up when you can, and put on walking shoes.
Take up your bent cane, dry your eyes. Begin your work.
You will need water and sunglasses; cookies and popsicles.
Hold hands with those you believe, and trust small children
for the dry road to healing stretches on.


VI.

I would water your garden with tears,
wash your dishes with my hands.
I would ache the wind to silence.
I would cool the heat, draw the drapes, shutter the end away.
I would take away your pain, turn on the gentle lights,
Only be here, please be here,
Lisanne.


March 27th, 2003

[ardchoille]

I don't know what to say. Though no poem can do justice to a lost friend or loved one, yours is quite memorable.

No one truly leaves us so long as we carry their memory in our hearts.

[Marshal Moroni]

Loss is always hard, I read the ache in your heart in your poem. A tribute of a true friend. Remember and never forget, celebrate the life and your friend's contributions.

Regards,

Marshal Moroni

[Coemgen]

Wow.

May her memory be eternal.

[michaelbeeman]

That's very powerful and moving, Alan. I have been thinking a lot lately, about the people gone before me. That poem has helped put some of that into words.
Thank you for sharing your heart and your poem.