Showing posts from January, 2012

If God Is In The Details: Metaphor, The Great Pandemic, and Hummingbirds

A poem, and then a few thoughts on metaphor...

Headstones carry last century’s news etched into granite gone
green, lichen as cold as the shade side of an empty house. I wait while he kneels at his son’s grave,
wander the brittle grass paths, find mothers
buried with newborns
Born Died The dates are the same.No span of life stretches
between them.I find brothers
and sisters, a wife,
then a child,
a husband – the Great Pandemic.

Grief is a familiar load.It bends us at the shoulders, buckles his knees as I wander, waiting for the right time to go to him, the sorrow
of a town etched in each stone. Grave after
winter grave, I see where death
turned the calendar
December 1918 January 1919 Seven months later we return to the family plot. Too soon.
The soil hasn’t settled.They have piled a mound of cold earth on
his son’s grave, carving space for the wooden box that holds the
grandmother’s ashes. A boyholding the earth. It should not be
so – life turned upside