Postcards of Grief

Mourning is a process.

Comments on breast cancer by proxy, written by a woman coping with the loss of her mother.

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

The Ceremony (an excerpt)

We will grow old, and older.
One of us will die, and then the other.
The earth itself will be impaled
on sunspokes. It doesn't matter.
We have been imprinted on the protons
of energy herself,

and so stand in another atmosphere,
where an undiscovered star we will never live to see
casts shadows on a grove of succulents we cannot yet imagine.
There our interchangeable features still vibrate and blur,
each smile half of one circle,
each utterance spiraling like light
upward in shudder along the spine
as if the moon and you and I were slivers
of one mirror, gazing on herself at last.


Post a Comment

<< Home

This gif is freely copyable. Just right click, save
Powered by
RSSify at WCC

Powered by Blogger