Memorial Day
The white lilacs intoxicate.
My shears snap off enough to mix
with newly blossomed chives,
plump and purple on their onion stems,
then finish out my sad bouquet
with columbine, resplendent in its grief.
It is a spring walk through the park
to Lake View Cemetery where I go to tell
my parents’ stone of the imminent
death of their first born.
On my path, lilac petals shed
like bread crumbs Hansel and Gretel
dropped to lead them back to home.
“It is good,” I tell my parents’ ghosts,
“you did not live to see your child die.”
I console them
knowing not the wisdom
for how to watch a brother go.
They might be on the lookout,
if our spirits hang around in
the gravitational pull of memory.
They might be on the lookout
for their son. He will be the one
whose voice is new with love.
What he could not love in life
perhaps in death he’ll find
in the largeness of space
where damages drop like broken
branches from their own weight.
Mary's Room With a View 
Mary, this pulls like a heavy tide. You catch grief precisely here, and I am so touched. Thank you for sharing your gift with the world.
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Oh, Mary… how your writing affects me every single time. This one is so heavy, so insightful, so respectful.. love you so.
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Mary, beautiful and so moving. Could we find in death what we couldn’t find in life? Is there a divide at all? I don’t know but I loved your poem.
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Mary,
I stood in silence with you as you finished your sad bouquet, then followed on the spring walk through the park to Lake View Cemetery. Your grief is palpable but I also feel release from pain with the imagery “in the largeness of space damages drop like broken branches from their own weight”. There is a sweet moment when you let go of responsibility for your brother and tell your parents to “lookout for their son. He will be the one whose voice is new with love”. What a beautiful journey through grief holding faith your parents will reunite with their son. Thank you for sharing this deep loss and hope with us.
Don’t surrender your loneliness so quickly
let it cut more deep.
Let it ferment and season you
as few human or even divine ingredients can.
Something missing in my heart tonight
has made my eyes so soft
my voice so tender
my need of God
absolutely clear.
~ Hafiz
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Thank you so much, Anne, for your close, involved reading
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