The Pilgrimage

A soft-sided,
well worn,
briefcase
slouches
in a closet

One side agape,
a red lanyard
stuffed inside –
occupational identity

A row of black, brown, and gray pumps
line up beside it – a thin layer of dust
betraying idleness.

Silent, unblinking,
a television recedes
into the wall,
flanked on either side
by smiling images –
shadows of nostalgia.

Stacks of books
and journals
rumour
a scholarly mind.

The woman,
to whom all these trivialities
once had relevance
is no longer here.

She has been called to another purpose.

(Originally written in 2014, The Pilgrimage strives to help me understand the purpose behind losing all to illness. Image my own)

Pondering Abstracts

The certainty of yesterday
has slipped our grasp
light deflecting truth
tosses us into the abstract

I ponder process
and outcomes,
will my mind to carry me
gliding between thermals
dissolving into vapours

Some realities
too hard to bear –
dislodged
we tread the indeterminate.

(Poem originally appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, December ’19. Image my own)

Dichotomy of Christmas

Between festive preparations
and Mother’s dying wishes
I walk a surreal line – numbed
surface belying broiling depths

I will serve the bird, scrape
the carcass, sing praises
and slip into solitude to grieve –
Mother’s flesh languishing.

(Last year, when I penned this poem, my mom was contemplating assisted dying. I supported her wish, but not without accompanying grief. This year, her absence weighs heavily on the preparations for Christmas, and I know I am not alone. Many of us feel our losses even deeper at this time of year.)

Varnish

Ice has blown in overnight
tree branches coated,
sparkling…

… I search for a word
evasive, my fogged brain
having released so many
to the void…

“Varnish?” I ask aloud
“What’s that?” comes an answer
my son-in-law always helpful
spies my hand on butcher block

“Do you mean the finish on the wood?
That’s varnish, yes.”

“No.” I bite my trembling lip.
Indicate the scene outside the window,
the tree with its new shiny coat

“Like varnish!” he exclaims
“That works.”

“Nature’s varnish!” I proclaim

Creativity –
a sometimes bi-product
of a faulty mind.

(Image my own)

The Call That Never Came

I called you.
That one time.
Poured my heart out..
such despair.

I called you.
You weren’t there.
Left a message –
garbled words
rushed to beat
the inevitable beep.

Regret immediate,
then panic –
ineradicable
this outpouring
of a lonely heart,
fantasizing.

I called you.
You didn’t answer.
You never called back.

Thank you for that.

(Poem first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II. Image my own)