Grief is like the wake behind a boat. It starts out as a huge wave that follows close behind you and is big enough to swamp and drown you if you suddenly stop moving forward. ~ Jimmy Buffett
1.
I arrived in the country
of my ancestors with a list
of questions about a future
without my mother, but
spent my time searching
treetops for songbirds
sprinkling the morning
with melody.
2.
When the Collie silently appeared
at my side in Connemara, intent
on herding me to path’s center after
I unwittingly passed too close
to a newborn lamb,
I felt no fear, only
appreciation.
3.
My husband usually waited hours
for me at trailheads but when he chose
to accompany me, would notice
the craftsmanship of the limestone walls
built by hand centuries ago, the precision
with which tension wires were attached
to pasture posts, the threading and twisting
of metal to create barbed-wire-like
deterrents for livestock—all of which
I would never have seen
if not for him.
4.
The suffering and death of so many seeped
through my boots as I slogged through mud
to reach the road built to nowhere, a worthless
road of stone built in exchange for a scrap
of food. And while anger at those who conquer,
crush and kill chased me like the rain, while
hopelessness at this cycle of cruelty hovered
like the billowing clouds overhead,
by trail’s end I was overwhelmed
with gratitude, especially
for the sheep which showed me
the path through cliff’s edge
when I lost my way.
5.
On the ship returning home,
the professor spoke of Monet
painting 26 canvases of haystacks
with varying light and perspectives
depending on time of day
and season’s coloring.
I remember how Mother wrote
multiple poems about the view
outside her window
and how both artists
revealed the extraordinary
in the ordinary.
I am not trying to compare her
with Monet, but wondering if
that is my work, too.
6.
When you ask me if I was ready
to return home, I will tell you
she was the rainbow in the mist,
the breeze at my back
nudging me forward.
0 Comments