Thoughts That Stay

           Thanks to Laura Shovan, we do more with poetry! She offers thoughtful challenges for poetry creation and contemplation often, and today shares another of her book/poem connections. along with hosting Poetry Friday at her blog, Author Amok. Come visit for a day filled with poetry! And be sure to thank Laura for managing all of us! 
            This post seems particularly apt for Poetry Friday because it's about the spoken word, and poetry is meant to be spoken. Some believe that our everyday interactions create the poetry of our lives. I enjoy the idea a lot.            


            Thoughts fly through my mind this week, remembering this time last year, each day spent loving my husband, and preparing as I could to say goodbye. A year ago yesterday, I did. With the loving support of family and friends, the year has passed, seasons have come and gone, much has been celebrated.  In every part, it's a comfort to think he's near, if only in our thoughts. One large thing that I've noticed during this time of loss is that I no longer have anyone to tell the small things to, especially to my husband. Of course I talk to my children and friends, but not about those tiny things that one says more often than you think, like "Can you believe I left this _________ at home again?" or "Did you see the tree down the block was cut down?" and especially, "Do you remember how much fun it was when we ___________?" And I do miss the bigger conversations and moments, yet these mundane moments fill in the cracks day to day. This is a poem I wrote last fall for Arvie, my dear husband whom I miss very much.

 And I Would Show You

And I would show you autumn is here.

Where once greenest leaves, now falling goodbyes.

Flowers’ last blooms fade by the evening;

Afternoon breezes undress trees with sighs.

And I would show you the sun has changed angles.

It’s no longer glaring, clouds relax in their glide.

Last minute bees taste last minute nectar;

Crickets are chirping, cicadas abide.

And I would show you the clocks appear slower;

it’s time for breath holding, and nothing still grows.

Nature’s preparing stark shadows of winter,

Beginning to paint on its canvas of snow.

                                        Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved