Tuesday, March 15, 2016

Joseph Lisowski writes



FROM DEATH’S SILENCE [part V]


WAITING

What can I bring to this life
but long suffering?
I wait for forgiveness
or at least renewal, some change,
anything, even a cold crisp wind
that colors leaves or carries snow.
I wait.
I wait.

I wait for resurrection.


REFRAIN

Yahweh, when you are near
it is in the weeping of my wife.

I do not know what
to make of this ruin,
these wrecked bodies,
broken souls.
Where are you, where
are your ways everlasting?


TURNING TO THE NATURAL WORLD

A restless thrush chirps in dusk
outside my window. The same one,
I suspect, that comes before dawn.
Its happy, intrusive sound mocks
my loss. In spite of myself I listen.

These late rhythms are not light breaking.
Its programmed song is delusion.
Yet, for a moment I convince myself
and get drunk on its lies.


PRAYER

I ask you, my daughter, to bless us,
all of us who struggled against
the love you demanded
and recklessly sought.


THERE ARE ROSES NOW, I'M TOLD

There are roses now, I'm told,
on my daughter's grave.
And a bed of petunias too.
The surrounding earth is flat,
brown in early March.
She was buried North,
near her childhood home.
My hands leveled the soil
where her body lay.
The wounds I opened were hot.
Steam rose from the ache.
Tears I dropped avoided them.
Later, they froze in the night.

My vigil does not end.
My hands, raw as winter earth,
still feel the broken ground.
I cannot hope but wish
my heavy arms could squeeze her
until her body warmed.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Join the conversation! What is your reaction to the post?