Showing posts with label funeral. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funeral. Show all posts

Collectors

Some people collect stamps.
Some people collect coins.
Some people make air fix models so well
You can barely see the joins.

Some people collect conquests.
Some people collect scars.
Some people collect experiences
during which they see stars.

I've got a new collection,
and not through conscious act.
It's been kind of foisted on me and
I'd rather give it back.
I'll put it in an album,
Neat, protected, labelled, proud
private slice of all the lives
that used to be around.
Past tense.
You see it's all the funeral cards
with photos and songs and poems.
It's hard
to watch the collection grow.
I have no control
over this.
It's not like pokemon cards or vintage picture discs.
They're all limited editions,
all one off works of art.
All threads in one rich tapestry
of which we're just one part.
And the pattern that they weave glistens
Crystallised in wisdom.
Passed through timely advice
and an ear willing to listen.
It's not like I can display it.
For flat living it's highly compatible.
For the major part of it,
It's completely intangible.
The cards are merely a symbol:
A trinket in place of a jewel.
One hydrogen atom representing
Each universe of you.
So I'll put them in an album,
neat, protected,  labelled,  proud
and share them with the enthusiasm
of the traction engine crowd.

Some people collect conquests.
Some people collect scars.
Some people collect experiences
during which they see stars.

Some people collect stamps.
Some people collect coins.
Some people make air fix models so well
You can barely see the joins. 

Magpie

All week long I saw them.
Those portents gleaming, squawking,
hopping, cocked head, taunting,
“Sorrow! Sorrow!”; giving warning.

Well dressed spectres perching trite
on ghoulish glamour of foresight
from watchful beads. Their message might
be overlooked, taken light

-ly. I mistook their solo missions
as personally guided acts of attrition
and didn’t realize what they were bringing
was the precious gift of premonition.

Now I replay my memories and lessons impart
-ed by you, my husband’s family’s matriarch.
Luminous lady now journeying in to dark
with no map or signs. No official chart.

Are those monochromatic couriers guiding
the Valkyries with whom you’re riding?
Battles corporeal you fought inspiring
-ly with bravery unretiring.

If the piebald post can pass their notes from Future into Past
Can missives slip between the cracks of the Living and the Passed?
And if only one can get through to you
out of the endless many
let it be this truth you’ve heard a million times:

“Ciao, Tesoro. Ti voglio bene”.


In memoriam of Luciana Pavia. 4th October 1940 - 20th January 2015