With Their Death

*

With Their Death

By Jane Tawel

March 5, 2022

*

With their death

comes understanding.

And suddenly —

like a magic trick of the mind,

a magician appears

with their meaning,

and the brightness is so blinding,

as blinding as a sun;

and the pain is deep,

it is a pain as deep as the earth.

*

With their death,

comes the end of feeling —

Oh, to only —

— just once more!

touch and see and hear and

smell the rose in loamy soil

that they were.

To touch and be touched again

by the tangible love

of their hugs and crooked smiles.

And the feeling is so palpable at times,

that the heart beats hard

as it struggles to swim up,

fighting through the years of mud,

day and night

through past and present tears

not yet shed for them while they lived.

At least not enough.

Never enough.

*

And one’s life goes on.

Because it must.

But something has died inside.

Is there enough hope in me

for them,

for me

to be reborn,

as a phoenix?

as eternal presence?

*

And as I wake,

and in the hours of my nights,

there is always now,

a real and tender presence,

whispering,

“I forgive you.”

*

And as the tide of Time

rushes towards me,

I ask,

“Who will forgive me, when I am gone?”

“Who will take my own small meaning,

and live on?”

*

© Jane Tawel, 2022