I do not have a closet
full of mourning clothes
I have never
inked the names of my dead
on my tender forearms in black
in solemn homage
The list too long
My arms too short
to box with god
I am a motherless child
who grieved
too long
for the comfort of others
Left me wondering if grief
is considered contagious
a virus?
What is the suitable period of mourning
for loss of my identity
as daughter?
as granddaughter?
We do not mention pregnancy losses
As if they don’t count
don’t matter
as though the hopes
the dreams
we embraced for those little balls of cells
were weightless
mere dandelion fluff
in the breeze
We are left
standing alone
in contemplation
of our empty arms
Is a man who never held his breathing child still
a father?
A widowed woman still a wife?
A boy who has lost his twin still a brother?
Who are we when those we love are lost
and all that remains are their empty shapes on our soul
like Peter Pan’s shadow?
© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved
This is so poignant and powerful. Thank you for sharing.
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My honor Robin
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Thanks for a beautiful meditation on that list that lengthens with long life.
Mourning, in its various intensities,
Inseparable from memory,
Lasts until the time
When it comes our turn
To be mourned.
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Lovely response Bob
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
Christine Elizabeth Ray offers a poem of mourning and memory.
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Thank you for the kind reblog
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We’re just like the hollow vessels who want to live & mourn for our selfish reasons.
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An interesting observation. I have never thought of mourning as selfish as much as self-focused. Grieving our lost social roles, grieving the futures we had dreamed of, been given reason to expect. Each new loss making us re-experience all the losses before it
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True
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