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
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5 comments:
Thank you, Maureen, for inviting us to share in this devastating, beautiful tribute to your brother. <3
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.
The pain of losing someone you love: thank you for finding the words to express this never-healed loss.
Love to you, Maureen. May the rich blessings of the table hold you and fill you this season.
Such strong and moving poems, Maureen. Thanks for sharing them here, with us.
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