WT ( / )

Once More

The sign on the door:
Trauma Room.

A nurse,
funeral director smile,
hands clasped tranquilly
at her waist.

'We couldn't save her.
You can go in now
if you wish.'

If you wish.
If I wish.

Seven Augusts,
slow and steamy,
drift by.

What would I have done in there,
behind that door?

Once more
my fingers through her hair?
My lips upon her eyes?
My hands, a cradle for her face?

Once more?

Once more my mouth upon her ear:
Goodbye?
Take care?
Godspeed?

Don't
go?

If you wish...

I did not wish,
did not choose to burn my hand
on limbs of stone

eyes of emptiness.

I did not wish.

Last night,
on a television program,
a character spoke
of an African village.

Overlooking that village,
a hill;
on that hill,
a baobab tree.

To the tree come the dead,
to sit in its shade,
to renew acquaintances,
to sing,
as best they can,
the old and pulsing songs.

I did not wish.
And I do not regret.

Still,
watch for me, dear girl.
The time may come when
I will meet you at the baobab,
second branch from the right.

And, once more:
my fingers through your hair,

my lips upon your eyes,

my hand
upon
your heart.

Once more,

I wish.

by Will Thomas

Comments (1)

So, So sad. I hope that being able to put your grief into words helps, you have such a long way to go. My heart aches for you. Take care.