Free AI web copilot to create summaries, insights and extended knowledge, download it at here

Abstract

ht, the annoyance.Oh, let’s bury the petty argument. I’ll call today, a friend distant, let’s not forget, death, the master, can restore us to remember our love and our need to ask forgiveness (not in that order).II. Dear EileenThe tears empty me, leaving few words to tell of you dancing with me in the Bed & Breakfast in Carmel or the night we whispered after my father died, when you stayed over in San Diego, or our pathetic Thanksgiving when we microwaved Mothers’ turkey, then watched “Jackie”, so depressing,or the tenderness of your voice, or the time on the beach — I wasn’t sure the trauma was real, but we had a funeral for a part of you that died early on. I took photos, and lost them, can’t find them in my phone — you, the ocean, a bouquet of flowers, in Carlsbad.I remember you taking my hand during a funeral and buying $1,000 of clothes so I could pick what to wear for my husband John’s funeral.Let someone else celebrate that you raised her when you found her on the bus and fell in love with her, let someone else tell how you were so scared to go on the stage and play the violin.I miss you, where are you my dear? I feel you closer through my sobs.<figure id="cd2a"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*3N9HfhQEw5EAfTZTpZv3PQ.jpeg"><

Options

figcaption>Image by the author, quote by <a href="https://www.bahai.org/library/authoritative-texts/bahaullah/hidden-words/">Baha’u’llah</a></figcaption></figure><a href="undefined">Indubala Kachhawa</a> midwifed the birth of this poem, allowing me time to feel my cries and pain, and tell her bits of my story. It was a long delivery but “Morning Eileen” burst through. I am grateful.Thank you, <a href="https://medium.com/paper-poetry">Paper Poetry</a>’s <a href="undefined">Suntonu Bhadra</a>, for welcoming and creating a theater for our poems, and <a href="undefined">Carolyn Hastings</a> and <a href="undefined">Indubala Kachhawa</a> for the kind, encouraging editing, as I write on Mizpah (Hebrew מִצְפָּה) “watch-tower; the look-out”, deep emotional bonding with people separated by distance including death, the next world.Thanks, each of you who’ve read “Morning Eileen”. May this poem open a place where you can touch the soul of one you loved who has departed.The next poem in the series is titled “A Funeral for Disappointment”.Editorial Note: Paper Poetry is running a themed poetry series of four poems over a month. This is first on the theme, Mizpah which means deep emotional connect between people seperated by death or distance.</article></body>

POETRY SERIES - MIZPAH

Morning Eileen

Dedicated to Eileen Estes (1947–2020) After writing “I Wish I Was More A Blessing” to Eileen…a year after she departed

Photo by author, who placed roses as did another friend of Eileen’s, named Claudia

“…blessed be He, beyond all the blessings and hymns, praises and consolations that are ever spoken in the world.” — Mourner’s Kaddish

אבל: יִתְבָּרַךְ וְיִשְׁתַּבַּח וְיִתְפָּאַר וְיִתְרומַם וְיִתְנַשּא וְיִתְהַדָּר וְיִתְעַלֶּה וְיִתְהַלָּל שְׁמֵהּ דְּקֻדְשָׁא. בְּרִיךְ הוּא. [קהל: בריך הוא:] (Hebrew)

I. Asking for Forgiveness

After I ask Eileen to forgive me for not being a better friend it is as though there is a crack in the world — my heart is able to feel, the veil of cynicism parts. Tears fall gently, my heart sees again,

I find faith again. Asking forgiveness carves out ego, restores my soul. I rub my chest — so much pain holding on. I sense my distance from certain people over nothing that matters, that kept me at times from Eileen — the slight, the annoyance.

Oh, let’s bury the petty argument. I’ll call today, a friend distant, let’s not forget, death, the master, can restore us to remember our love and our need to ask forgiveness (not in that order).

II. Dear Eileen

The tears empty me, leaving few words to tell of you dancing with me in the Bed & Breakfast in Carmel or the night we whispered after my father died, when you stayed over in San Diego, or our pathetic Thanksgiving when we microwaved Mothers’ turkey, then watched “Jackie”, so depressing,

or the tenderness of your voice, or the time on the beach — I wasn’t sure the trauma was real, but we had a funeral for a part of you that died early on. I took photos, and lost them, can’t find them in my phone — you, the ocean, a bouquet of flowers, in Carlsbad.

I remember you taking my hand during a funeral and buying $1,000 of clothes so I could pick what to wear for my husband John’s funeral.

Let someone else celebrate that you raised her when you found her on the bus and fell in love with her, let someone else tell how you were so scared to go on the stage and play the violin.

I miss you, where are you my dear? I feel you closer through my sobs.

Image by the author, quote by Baha’u’llah

Indubala Kachhawa midwifed the birth of this poem, allowing me time to feel my cries and pain, and tell her bits of my story. It was a long delivery but “Morning Eileen” burst through. I am grateful.

Thank you, Paper Poetry’s Suntonu Bhadra, for welcoming and creating a theater for our poems, and Carolyn Hastings and Indubala Kachhawa for the kind, encouraging editing, as I write on Mizpah (Hebrew מִצְפָּה) “watch-tower; the look-out”, deep emotional bonding with people separated by distance including death, the next world.

Thanks, each of you who’ve read “Morning Eileen”. May this poem open a place where you can touch the soul of one you loved who has departed.

The next poem in the series is titled “A Funeral for Disappointment”.

Editorial Note: Paper Poetry is running a themed poetry series of four poems over a month. This is first on the theme, Mizpah which means deep emotional connect between people seperated by death or distance.