GRIEVING BUT GRATEFUL
Black-eyed Susan
A blessing for a dying friend
My friend is dying The Muse mourns dumbstruck with me Words taste of ashes
Memories erupt – feasts of time flowing Song, wine, dance, topless tanning by lava light
Lithe, blithe, brave spirit amidst the languid arms of the willow tree, you planted you waft, a dying swan en pointe waiting
for the weeping rest of us to reread the frosted stars
It will be okay
It will be okay — oh, black-eyed Susan, see the first star and set sail Seed in your wake a constellation of cygnets and fireflies with forget-me-nots for wings
blue light waves breaking against fanged shores of grief – vividly hued as your hands wiping tears from our cheeks, tenderly
like the welcome bite of each remaining breath, your song
©Jenine Bsharah Baines 2021
Yesterday, I could not get a poem to work — despite hours and hours trying to find my way clear. Now I know why. It wasn’t the right time for it.
The call came early last night. From Susan’s daughter.
All the Muse and I could manage was the haiku…but this morning the fever of wordlessness broke.
Still, I remain just so sad.
I am grateful as well. Like Dr. Seuss said, Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.
I am smiling now. Kisses, Susan. Kisses. Spirals of them singing thank you and bon voyage.
Plus a hug in full voice. In anticipation of new meetings in coming incarnations.
Which reminds me. I have had one dream — one dream only, decades ago — where I know I heard The Voice. And these words, It will be okay. So of course the Muse insisted we use them.
Thank you, Trista Signe Ainsworth and the team, at Thank You Notes, for providing the perfect home for my homage to Susan. Thank you, dearest readers, for allowing me to share my grief with you.
Love. Undying love. (Not, not, not meant cornily.) It will be okay.
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