It will not be surprising that some poetry has risen out of the death of my Mom.  Death touches each of us.  We loose people we love – the finality is sharp. We are awakened to the fragility of this life. It’s possible to process and leave it, I suppose.  We can move on quickly and return to the rhythms of life — sometimes we must return to the rhythms of life.  Sometimes those rhythms obscure and sometimes they clarify.  Writing is one of those clarifying rhythms for me.  It helps me listen to myself and can bring solace and understanding – hopefully making me a little more compassionate, enabled to listen to others who have also lost people they love.

Listen

 

If a tree falls

to its death alone

did it have a voice?

 

Certainly

the forest listened,

received the tree,

laid the gift down gently –

each tree a witness

awakened

to its own end.

 

Isn’t this the reason

for a forest?

© 2018 – Laurel Archer

Photo Credit – Laurel Archer, Bowen Island