One response to the pain of death
seems to be a concerted attempt
to erase all the evidence:
no pictures hung;
no mention made;
no questions asked of anyone.
Some actually believe this a kindness
fearing any reference might remind us
thinking, “if we can tiptoe around the chasm dividing
surely we’ll meet on the other side.”
But as avoidance gains in ground
the void grows deeper and wider still
till we trip and fall right in
a chasm of misunderstanding.
Then anger begins since the falling hurts
worse than any mention might bring
and that hurt will not leave
in the roar of silence
ringing in our ears like tintinnitus,
and then each lame movement made
to limp around the growing din
is mutely articulated and accentuated
with every slight
that ever occurred over years and years
of acquaintance.
Don’t let days accumulate,
don’t wait years to make a break
from the dysfunction we find so appallingly familiar,
the madness we accept as sane.
Let the pain in till you know what is yours
and what never belonged to you.
Then sit very still
and let it go,
all the pain and hurt,
just let it pass right through.

Copyright © 2001-2003 Kristen Spexarth