Hoping to comfort
friends quantify grieving,
say, “Thirteen months.
That’s how long it takes, on average,
to leave one layer of loss.”
I know they mean well,
wish me ease,
so I listen,
respecting,
knowing they, too, have grieved.
To me it matters little how long it takes.
I’m in no hurry.
Carried you nine months inside
and five years in my arms.
Around my neck and waist,
arms, legs, limpet clinging,
you rode on my back
till seven or eight.
Ferrying you and your brother
we rode out the years
team of three continually.
Even as you broke free
finding sweet life on your own,
handsome, strong,
kind man that you were,
still I carried you
in thoughts prized
and prize of my loving.
Pain is, but not the biggest part
along with your memory here in my heart.
And it’s welcome,
a reminder,
like spur in soft flesh says,
“Sleeper awake!
You have work to do yet.”

Copyright © 2001-2003 Kristen Spexarth