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Diana L. Lambson

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Member Since: Before 2003

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Mary Irene, April 28, 1998
by Diana L. Lambson

Sunday, September 28, 2003

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Recent poems by Diana L. Lambson
•  Burke's Hollow Plums
•  Today I Will Laugh
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           >> View all 10

Dedicated to my mother on the day of her resurrection into God's arms.

How do I speak a word whose loss
is devastation,
burdening my heart with twisted emptiness?
Gentle word, a lifetime companion.
Strong word, mentor of my vocabulary.
All the permutations of its syllables color every rising sun;
soothe a hectic pace into sleep.
The horizon seems long, long away;
lends no energy to pen the days into being;
looks empty.
How do I speak this word
when there is no vocal promise
in the morning, no
pillow whisper on my shoulder?
My hands are powerless
to re-write it into being.
All its saddened meanings gather at my feet.
They weep, remembering.
I comfort them but for me there is no
comfort. The book is closed.

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