We Interrupt This Silence for a Moment of Silence…

I lost one of my mother figures recently and it has been a slow process of mourning to regain my footing. I say one of my mother figures because my own mother isn’t in the picture; I need as many positive mother figures in my life to fill that vast and empty void as I can get. One is now missing and it has thrown my planets out of alignment. Everything is still rotating and revolving in my universe, just more wobbly than normal, trying to compensate for the hole, the empty space.

I promise to get back to regular posting soon, but for now I leave you with a poem that breaks my heart every time I read it.

There Are Four Wounds, Miguel

by E.A. Mares

The sand hill cranes rise, wheel

and turn above the Rio Grande. Their wings

flash in the sun and their wavering V

floats north and then is gone.

There is a fourth wound, Miguel,

the silence these birds leave in their wake.

The tree house in my father’s cottonwood

warps into something like a photograph

left too long in the sun.

all children having grown and gone.

There is a fourth wound, Miguel,

the silence of the tree house planks.

Once I saw a guitar burnt and blackened by fire.

The strings were gone, the bridge destroyed,

the neck and body only dark shadows.

There is a fourth wound, Miguel,

a silence where once there was music.

One by one the days slip into history,

and where there was a voice

there are only documents, evidence

that my daughter once walked this land.

Now she leaves footprints only in memory.

There are fours wounds, Miguel,

the wound of life,

the wound of love,

the wound of death,

the wound of silence.

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