Poem #7: “AWAKE—”
AWAKE—
Too much, too quiet, too deafening,
Too empty, too perpetual, too lost,
Too miserable.
AWAKE—
I touch his clothes, his shirts,
Each one a personality,
Each one a story that covered his heart;
Their arms sag, lifeless,
They don’t reach up over his head,
Or fill with his energy,
Or cover his life.
AWAKE—
I’m miserable.
AWAKE—
I open his briefcase, his artwork,
His designs pushed through pages.
I touch the impressions of his colored pencil strokes.
AWAKE—
I look at his brother, he’s not laughing;
His chair, he’s not sitting;
His bed, he’s not sleeping;
His toothbrush, he’s not brushing;
His bike, he’s not riding;
His toys, he’s not playing;
His computer, he’s not working;
His books, he’s not reading;
His dried blueberries, he’s not eating.
AWAKE—
TOO MUCH OF HIM HERE FOR HIM TO BE THERE.
Asleep.
Categories: Rewriting
Deanna
Rewriting life since the sudden death of my nine-year-old son, Sam (2007).
Trying to LEARN, think, remember, IMAGINE, cope, care, read, EAT, write, live, LAUGH, listen, enjoy, walk, meditate, stretch, watch, stop, BREATHE...and keep going.
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