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Not Yet Goodbye


It’s perhaps appropriate
That the closest we ever come to knowing a person
Is when we grieve at their loss.

At last a blessed intimacy breaks
Over the pages of my book
In hot, sea-salt tears.

I never knew you, and I never could.
A task too great for anyone bound as we are to time
Like slaves to the field
Or saints to the slaughter. 

Years later,
When the memories of your last days continue to haunt me,
I count myself lucky.
I never said goodbye,
So maybe it's fitting that you never left me.

If I’m blessed with grandchildren of my own,
Will the pain of this loss echo also in their hearts,
And the hearts of those that follow?
I can only hope for their sake it does.

What is so broken in us
That we spend our days
Bleeding over the things we’ve already lost?
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