Navigating Darkness
You shadow-walked since birth,
This journey beyond ocean,
Where prickly pears gaze fondly
Our careful approach.
You watched as I connected,
Felines purred to sunlight's ray,
Reminding us danger comes in daylight as well.
Recall the sheet
Covering your young inanimate body,
The beating of your chest by your mother,
Your gasp and exhale that raised the sheet,
The doctor whose slack jaw was forever remembered
Remember the auto crash,
The rolling instants becoming hours,
The dust of salient messages premature,
All before the quiet
The safety urging…
Now?
Today
You climbed the pock marked coldness,
The ancient echoes whispering stories,
Some of joy,
Many of sorrow,
All part of a day's ticking time,
Waiting out tomorrow.
Still
How vigilant your silhouette,
Where light is dimming,
When some might pull the covers,
High across old eyes that refuse to accept,
While smiles stay fixed,
Upon your door,
Forever open.
Is there reason
Air floats endless mantras,
As the butterfly stays aloft,
Wings motionless,
Sustaining you both,
While your waning shadow
Ventures in all the wrong places,
Unwilling to acknowledge me?
“Perhaps.
But…
Embracing your total darkness?
Not our time yet, my haunting friend.”
It seems as though you remember my mother on a below zero night in January after I called her about three times to put my arms down that with no tricep muscles almost automatically came up over my head and were exposed to the cold air of Wisconsin winter. After about the third time, in frustration, she slapped my 21-year-old face, burst out crying and ran back the sanctuary of my parents' bedroom. Thankfully, she did not have to beat on my chest to revive my heart.
Ron