Her ghost comes around.
Makes small popping sounds.
Her death, ricochet of many questions.
Around us, landscape on fire.
I add the Bible to the box in the back of my car,
early plans for potential evacuation.
Scripted inside, tree limbs of births and deaths.
Those relatives I remember
yet the milestones harder to conjure.
We were married in the year of our daughter’s birth.
Hammock between occurrences.
Ledger of access for those left behind.
I love Robyn’s poems, like this elegy that conjures up a bouquet of feelings. And the language dazzling. “Ledger of access for those left behind”
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for your kind comment. I hope you’ll come back soon.
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