The Rules of Engaging Grief

I just returned from Sedona, AZ. While there, I visited the site where our family gathered to scatter the ashes of my spouse five years ago.  Here is the poem I wrote to commemorate this occasion.

“New Beginnings”

Alone he walks a path –
Dusty red rock
Through Juniper pine
Winding upward for a mile,

Blast furnace heat envelops
As he ascends further
White rose tipped-red in hand
Where Kachina Woman* waits

In supplication and prayer,
Standing upon burnt shale,
A carpet of tears it seems;
He sits in her shadow

Recalls years ago
When he let loose in sadness
Love’s ashes to the breeze
To honor life’s transition.

Now upon a gnarled mesquite
Clinging tenaciously
To the barren surface
Patient for the rain,

He releases rose petals
With care – deliberately
In reflection of life –
A  love now passed.

After a time he rises
Retraces his steps
Returns to where it began –
A place of new beginnings.

  
*A red rock spire so named near Boynton Canyon outside of Sedona, AZ

I was discussing mortality with a friend and described how for me it was like walking
through a subway car in New York without being distracted as to your stop.

“Times Square Next”

The old man dressed in tatters walks
The subway car with purpose,
Pausing for support between lurches.

He sings softly Celtic ballads;
A scuffed violin he carries
To synchronize his spirit.

Confounded commuters look up,
Furtively at first from news print past,
Confronting presence in his blaze smile.

No beggar he – an intent seeker,
Oblivious to how long he yet must travel,
He seeks to stir those who linger – sleep.

Some ask – what is his purpose, his stop?
He’s a footfall in a flood of light;
Then absent – in exit, in transfer, who knows.

Most remaining sit unaware – unconscious really,
His song and music linger high above drone slumber.
Then brakes begin to squeal – what stop is next?