Grief Deferred

Solar plexus punch.
Breathless incredulity
clutches crumbling straws.

You – left – me
for eternal tomorrows.

Breathe
my muted mantra.

Chitter chatter clatter
sympathy, shock and hugs.

Weep they say.
Grieve they say.

Leave
my muted mantra.

leave – me
to wail
to grieve
to rend my hair

Someone sits
where you would sit.
Occupies your space
in my world.

Anguish. Breathe. Leave.

Pitter patter platter
casseroles, snacks and cups.


© Marion Friedenthal

This poem is for those who wish to grieve in solitude before facing the world after the devastating death of a loved one.

WHERE HAVE YOU GONE?

Your face is quiet as you stare, steadily, at the ceiling.
Where have you gone?
Where are you now?

Silently I beg you:
Smile at me again.
Warm my heart with your love.
Embrace me as you always did.
Reach out and touch my hand.
Let your fingers trail secret messages
across my soft palm.
Touch your lips to my mouth.
No?
Then I will touch mine to yours.

Your lips are cool, and still, beneath my gentle kiss.
I pull back and look upon your face again,
see my tears rolling down your pale cheek
as you still stare, steadily, at the ceiling.

Gently I reach out and shutter your eyes
as another of my tears rolls, unhindered,
down your cheek.

You disappeared while I was sleeping.
An empty shell is all that remains.
Where have you gone?



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THE BLEEDING MOON

The moon rises gently, on invisible wings,
spreading golden beauty across the sky.
I’m struck by my insignificance in life
knowing that, unlike the moon, I can die.

With the ceaseless repetition of the universe
the day ends and the moon rises yet again.
Whilst I, made of fragile flesh and blood,
will one day cease to be - not merely wane.

Oh wish that I could be eternal like the moon
and shed a warm and loving glow on one and all.
Oh wish that I could help this broken world
and save it from its last and final fall.

Some nights the moon rises, warm as fresh blood,
symbolic of the fearful hearts of all mothers
whose children are destined, from the moment of birth
to die in some war — slain by their brothers.

When man finally succeeds in his self-destruction;
when he eliminates all life from shore to shore;
when he destroys the world in a nuclear inferno
then the bleeding moon will rise no more.

We need not fear for our childrens’ children-
for them there will be no pain nor death nor war-
for man is so intent on achieving oblivion
that soon the bleeding moon will rise no more.


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