I have a bag of tears
somewhere in my head,
I feel it jiggle with the bumps along the road,
maybe I’ll take it out
and drink some down,
water my memories
Oh my sweetest love,
I miss you in my future,
I miss your presence, too.
The water comes and takes away my footprints,
something like that sometime may take me, too
I found a feather
amidst my sobs along the sand,
so small and perfect —
I smoothed it with my hand,
and as I always do
I had to take it for a sign
I had to listen for your presence in my mind
“Didn’t I show you?” you said —
I answered, “yes, you did.”
“Then you will take to heart
that light-filled vision.
Your heaviness is like those clumps of snow
disappearing, dense because they’re melting.
“Take that feather
and learn to fly sometime,
get ready
to leave it all behind,
not that you’re going anywhere,
just being redefined —
that’s how I’ll see you on the other side.”
©Wendy Mulhern
February 21, 2019
Did someone close to you die? Tell me it’s not your daughter. ❤️
Yes, my daughter died in April last year …
Oh, Wendy, my heart goes out to you. As I am learning, grief is a constant companion. Your poem captures this haunting presence well. Thank you for your poem.
I also understand that you are moving to Oregon. I just moved back from 8 years there. Blessings and prayers for a smooth move. Where in Oregon?
Thank you Sharon. I’ve felt a connection to you, given our shared experience, since that time.
We’re moving to Marcola, but not right away. We’re building a house there. We may spend most of the dry season there working on it again this year, but we’re still based in Seattle …
Yes, the death of one’s child is an onerous connection, indeed. Give yourself space and time to be present to the anniversary of her death. The time around Duncan’s death has become quite important to me. Take good care. My most sincere sympathy, Sharon
Thanks