No amount of empathy
could help me understand
the storm inside my father
Even in his death, thoughts
cloud my writing, his presence
preserved in prose…
(Even though it’s been fifteen years, my father’s essence remains strong – sometimes taunting, sometimes inspiring, always mysterious.)
Let us line our memories
side by side, build a raft
to hold her, let our tears
flow as one, form a river
to carry her, line her way
with echoes of her spirit:
her giving heart, her smile,
a vibrancy imprinted on
our hearts, forever blessed
for having been a part of her.
(Today’s prompt is to write an elegy.)
One Woman's Quest 