I chose the yellowed white pearls your hands crafted as a gift
your art, my memory forever entwined.
Now on the morning drive west
the pink gold sun
rising slow behind me
this gift says goodbyes to me.
Your death was from my art undone.
I am sorry.
There is more care than orders scripted or procedures done
more than the fatigue of so much hurt.
I chose the yellowed white pearls
in memory awakened to a daily becoming
not fading
burning off the haze of dawn.
To have and to hold would not last long
too messy too expectant
yet 41 promise years later,
we stand each whole and yet one.
Never really over,
the gospel of love embraced.
The time together traced in the lives of too many
but especially three
with days years or moments left to bloom.
I woke to rolling thunder, exploding heat
clouds exhausted in felled surrender
and at my feet the ground gave way
in one deep breath a thousand sighs
the miracle I know as summer rain.
Only so many heartbeats said a man-
trusting scarcity somehow to direct a life.
But daughters
hold treasured seeds of grandma’s eyes and DNA
inside their wombs not yet full
and they dance.
The memory soaked moment
unwanted
stains
glass windows of prayer
church is not a go to place
but a space
where you are off stage
being
the beauty of creation
celebrating
home
