Floored


floored
november 12th
an angry day
sugar sculptures seem pointless
an excitement to create seems petty
you're 15
but you're not here
it's as simple as that

you my boy asked for sushi
candles and film
so there we saw you two
playing - you  cried
as you saw and heard your stable father's pain
miss you

floored
so its true
it never goes away
and you are always missing,
especially on your birth
day

where are you..?

i looked for you in autumn bunting

set alight - ('the death of a child is a fire in the mind' Stephen Levine)

left your mark...

an imp above the ghoul .. (death will not wear the face of my child)

a leaf above the atlas

a trace

we will always miss you

Those who cannot imagine

May be less lacking in imagination

Than refusing to contemplate

a force that flings them apart

from the desparation

of life's clinging

to itself

But those for whom imagination is no longer the choice

(the soft and luxurious malingering)

see how completely their imaginings vaporise

The veil between this world and that not torn or wrenched away

simply lifted clean

without a whisper

We are relieved of one human agony and compelled to another

I am glad

Not to bend

and arch the brain in wondering

on ceaseless unbearable imaginings

that stretch and burst and strain at the seams of the mind

But -

the relaxation of that tension means -

the unimaginable happened

slipped through that net

both sudden and shocking

yet simple,

making easy fools of us

April 5th 23:46 The dying night

The last night that she lived,

It was a common night,

Except the dying; this to us

Made nature different.

We noticed smallest things, - -

Things overlooked before,

By this great light upon our minds

Italicized, as 't were.

That others could exist

While she must finish quite,

A jealousy for her arose

So nearly infinite.

We waited while she passed;

It was a narrow time,

Too jostled were our souls to speak,

At length the notice came.

She mentioned, and forgot;

Then lightly as a reed

Bent to the water, shivered scarce,

Consented, and was dead.

And we, we placed the hair,

And drew the head erect;

And then an awful leisure was,

Our faith to regulate.

Emily Dickenson

Mothers Day Again April 3rd 2011

making confectionary they were like your little dresses, the ones we brought with us, for your funeral and never used, baking these biscuits for make-believe girls never-to-be, i wanted to drown in the downiness, the marshmallow world sweet peas and sugared almonds, of lilacs, lavender and golds, picking off the petals, this for you, this for her, this for him this for me, this for them (those tiny two), that never even made it to daylight

13.12.11.10.

13.12.11.10.

Your 13th birthday, on 12th of November 2010

A descent, a plaintive sound in any key.

A pattern, like you, that will never be repeated.

Yet, I notice I find solace in the order, as if it were written in the stars

Challan

Did you know that Challan is an Irish girl's name meaning

spirited little fairy dancer

welcome to congruence, commitment, passion, fragility and determination
and welcome to knowing how it all goes, being seen as a total waste of space,

a drain on resources,

a beautiful human being,

a beautiful divine being,

one that waits patiently whilst we crank up our understanding.

A little one, a frail one, a fiery one, a dying one, a living one, an eternal one.