I left you a present at Christmas:
holly and fir
in an endless circlet.
I made it
from the holly tree in the garden
stealing the berries
before pigeon pillage
rendered it fruitless.
I made it from the Christmas tree
that decorated our home
because you could not share
the warm glow of the season.
I wrapped them
around the salvage
of a bedroom light-shade
which, like you,
had died.
Your present to me
was never wrapped
in fancy paper
nor sealed with silken ribbon.
Your present to me
won't be taken back, receipt in hand,
to an ungrateful vendor.
Your presence to me
is precious,
sealed in my genes,
an endless circlet
of absence.
1 comment:
I sometimes hold my breath when reading your work. As if it is almost too sacred to breathe upon. I recognise the sentiment here - who couldn't! Yet I can't equate Susan "born asleep" to being dead. She lives on in an eternal home with our eternal Father. And having twin grandchildren, I would say Susan's presence is within you just as you were in hers. No absence. A circlet of life - one seen the other unseen. xxx
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