Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Called to Thanksgiving (Poem)

I wrote the poem below two years ago and repost it now, because all that is different is this: a feeling that the loss is greater, the love steadfast.

Patrick William Doallas
March 25, 1950 - May 5, 2009 

Called to Thanksgiving

    for my brother

With your body laid down,
we begin the unforgiving

pattern of forgetting what
we cannot hold before us.

We re-run the memories
time disfigures then re-cuts:

a silhouette cannot contain
the whole of you—who you

were before your final hour,
quieting just as the sun was

rising to the point of the day.
Our fingers numb as we patch

through old albums for clues
to the flesh the blood the bone,

we find and lose our faith
in answers, still want for praise

of the priest once more calling
us to our own thanksgiving.

© 2014 - 2012 Maureen E. Doallas


michelle ortega said...

Thank you, Maureen, for inviting us to share in this devastating, beautiful tribute to your brother. <3

Kathleen Overby said...

I remember you saying that writing poetry during this time and the support group - both held you. I have several corners turned down and notes in the margin - from the ordering the chaos section in Neruda's Memoirs. Thanks for posting again. There is something honorable about saying the names of the loved ones we miss here on earth.

Peggy Rosenthal said...

The pain of losing someone you love: thank you for finding the words to express this never-healed loss.

Laura Boggess said...

Love to you, Maureen. May the rich blessings of the table hold you and fill you this season.

drew said...

Such strong and moving poems, Maureen. Thanks for sharing them here, with us.