A daily battle with memories,
Offering emptiness,
Even the sparkle of gem like happiness,
Leaving small smiles for the moment—
Before tears begin.
Standing separated
From the ashes and earth
We once kissed and touched so tenderly,
All we embrace now—air,
Some ephemeral being of memory
As voice and smile and laughter fade.
Some of us,
Too many, told too often,
By those once precious, counted family,
Our grief, less than, less meaningful,
Really nothing more than dust,
Containing no rawness of a bloody heart.
Thus, I voice, singing the lament
Of my sisters in widowhood,
As we wait for our souls to soar–
To take flight once again.
When each in her turn is ready,
Able to begin,
Renewed,
Emerging, uncurling, however slowly,
From our blanketing storm clouds of grief,
Wings wet, drying in the sun.
