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| Birds Lifting (M.A. Reilly, 2011) |
Most everything has a name.
Hours before death comes
the jaw seems to unhinge, shift
like some wild bird wanting
a new route
to freedom
and so it bats itself
at an imaginary window
again
and again
and again
until so tired
the pauses between breaths
increase,
spread wing wide
and freedom comes
when the jaw is stilled
like the breath.
And I sit looking at Rob's body
and wonder did it help to know this is the mandibular movement?
Does naming make it more or less real?
Did naming it somehow lessen
the angst I felt
as I watched
my husband, my lover
my everything
seek flight
and leave.
Such a powerful poem of loss and wonder, Mary Ann. Even in the idea of having some knowledge and insight, we are reminded again and again that we, in fact, no very little about the world around us and the strange clockwork of our hearts. Take care.
ReplyDeleteKevin
The strange clockwork of our hearts--yes, just that.
DeleteWithin the silence your voice speaks out about the tender heart that took flight onto a new journey.
ReplyDelete