For K.B.E. 5/9/42-12/28/94
My heart screams like the strings
written by Penderecki for Hiroshima.
Loss rips through my soul
with the force of atomic bombs.
This is a chasm that can never be filled,
a crack beyond repair.
Even now, memories blurry with distance,
emptiness threatens to consume my consciousness.
But then, a tiny hand reaches for mine,
a small voice raises in questioning.
Little arms encircle me with quiet unknowing,
calming my furious thoughts
and deepening my shallow breaths.
They need me, and for them I can move mountains.
While physically the vacant space remains,
I feel you here in small moments
all the time. Hearing virtuoso piano concerti,
in a gesture or expression on a small boy’s face,
in my uncontrollable urge to sway in an embrace.
Yes, you are not gone, only gone subtle.
With an alert eye, there is no need for loneliness.
Until we meet again.