You were middle aged
when we were twenty-seven,
but we didn’t know.
I feel like I am just beginning,
but you have ended.
I can not get my head around
this unexpected cutting
of a thread that should still be winding
through our tapestry.
poem- indeed December 21, 2017
Indeed,
there is a moment
when hushed memories sneak,
creeping behind you.
You hear the creak, and turn
to find those lost
those missed,
those grieved.
They’re whispers caught
on remembered phrases,
favourite songs;
you’re sure you hear their voices.
Indeed, there are moments
when ghosts hover;
in memories
their love remains.
poem-the wave September 16, 2017
I’m waffle making
and suddenly
the loss of you
is palpable.
Did I ever make you waffles?
Still, your absence at this moment
overwhelms me,
and I fill the emptiness
with tears.
poem-thinking of you September 3, 2017
Today, I’m thinking of you,
new friend, met for a weekend,
those intense moments of stretching
ourselves into expectation,
birthing pains.
I find your words here,
between the pages,
and hear the anguish of your loss.
I remember our late night conversation,
the smile you fought for as you shared.
I’m thinking of you,
and wishing you lightness,
today.
poem- Misty’s shoes June 3, 2017
Misty’s shoes
attended graduation,
tramping up and down the stairs,
standing at the podium as
name after name was read
each biography
each list of scholarships.
Dancing for young people,
leaping off into the unknown.
Misty’s shoes were there,
celebrating a roomful of potential
that Misty will never know.
.
.
.
A few years ago on eBay I purchased a pair of stunning black and white spectator pumps (Listen Up Harlow by John Fluevog). While corresponding with the seller, I was told that they were her deceased sister’s shoes. Misty had passed away from cystic fibrosis. I was touched by the story, and wrote a character named after her into the novel I was writing at the time. Misty loved shoes and dancing and her passions fueled her story line in Grace Awakening Myth. (GA Myth is still in editing and revisions. Not sure that sub-plot will make the cut, actually). Thinking about Misty while wearing her shoes at my school’s grad this week, I remembered young people I knew who passed away far too young.
poem- watcher April 18, 2017
I pass the old man
on his balcony.
Huge sunglasses
through which he watches
like a
diurnal owl;
the world unfolds below him.
Just like my dad liked to sit.
I don’t wipe away
my tear.
poem-ghost hug March 16, 2017
I feel your ethereal pride
in my accomplishment
as firmly as I used to feel
your embrace.
poem-sweater March 13, 2017
I found your cardigan
and held it close
searching for the sensation of your arms.
I gathered up the folds
and held it to my nose
searching for the scent of you.
You’ve been gone too long.
Instead of holding memories
Now
it’s just a sweater
you once wore.
poem-toothpaste love March 6, 2017
This was your toothpaste.
The tube still holds the contours of your fist
the last squeeze you gave it.
I wrap my hand around
imagine your grip,
the skin on your hand like satin tissue
squeezing paste to scrub your teeth.
It is a long time before I can remove the lid
and squeeze the paste onto my own brush.
Remembering your hand
holding mine.
poem- pocketful November 14, 2016
Old blazer.
I reach into the pocket:
A piece of plastic wrapper and a hole.
While pristine on the outside,
Both sides within are eaten through.
Instantly,
the ghost of an old dog is in the room with me,
the metronome of his tail slowly waving
while he looks away
to hide the twinkle in his eye.
Shawn L. Bird 