Let it burn
/Louise Gluck’s poem “The Wild Iris” prompted me to write the following imaginary view from my daughter’s perspective of the moments immediately after her death.
At the end of my suffering
there is a great door
opening on green folds
of hospital bed covers
I float as the curlicue of smudge
winding myself around you
caressing your tight grip
grasping the disbelief
I hear your hearts beat as one
with the drum song beckoning
and the nurses say beautiful
this circle of love
I am not ready!
yet am lifted through
and see the path I am to walk
where the sweet grass burns
Let it burn, Momma
let it burn
What do you see or feel when you let your imagination wander? How do you reconcile pain and beauty when both are present?
Please share your thoughts in the comments.
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