Where do we take cover
Once the dying's done?
To name the pain
Is not enough
To push what's deeper forward.
We have to learn again
To bare our hearts
To bear our grief
To make refuge within ourselves
Respite from the catechism
Practiced daily, bedside.
Feelings, not being felt
The way we finger rosary beads,
Don't fall into line so neatly.
Words can't mimic nor hands mime
What we look for in the red swirl
Yet to stain our thirsting lips.
The cup, lifted,
Becomes the one true compass
Pointing us back to that first place
Where someone else reached out
To catch us.
I wrote "Enough" yesterday evening. I welcome your comments about my new poem.
Copyright 2009 Maureen E. Doallas. All Rights Reserved.