So Willingly

Oddly, a rich night . . .

September 13, 2002

I left work for the weekend with sadness in my heart. It weighed so heavily, I was not able to lift it. So I entered the car, and headed home. Who would know 'just what to say', whose exuberant hug I missed so! But Laura is no longer here!

And the tears began to flow. I reached home safely, and landed on the sofa with Julia. I let myself wail, almost lost in that far despair, but for the touch of Julia's hand, like a tether, keeping me from wandering too far away.

And I cried. I cried to music which also spoke of grief. I cried while I held Julia's hand, and I cried. Sobbing great tears, while the singer sang of grief, I cried.

Finally spent, I laid with Julia on the bed, and listened to yet another singer sing their songs of timeless lament. It had oddly been a rich night.

Willingly

Drained,
like a rag left to lie,
I am drained,
yet happily so.
How grief be sweet?
I cry each tear
most willingly.
Your leaving has brought me to this point.  
I know you did not leave willingly.
I know.
Whatever membrane separates us,
though which we can not reach,
(I can only imagine the touch),
still I shall sing your song.
I would like to think you,
on your far isle,
could hear me singing,
could hear me crying,
could know me loving you,
across that wide membrane,
through which time shall not touch.
I shall love you forever.
Maybe it echoes there.
I would like to think it does.
This, death can not take away.
It can only command my tears,
which I offer
so willingly.
Drained,
like a rag left to lie,
I am drained,
yet happily so.
It is not love that has died.

JAL, 9 - 13 - 02

© Joan Ann Lansberry
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