“A Bridge I Cross on Fridays” The Sunday Whirl #160

If I look it’s only a ghost in the ground
away from the bale, where I cast my shadow.
Still appointing, it’s useless to raise a glass for my desire
in something vanishing that does not suffer,
unnecessary to visit the shattering
it adds to the intangible, where dust
keeps me in fascination’s threshold,
we are tied to one another.

I listen to the bridge man’s voice;
his fable intention, the embroidering figures call.
Recent creation hidden within a log
on clear land, so I won’t be a dream in
his beloved memory, by angels who disuse peace.

Frozen by widows who cry for death,
which has been with them all along.

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13 responses to ““A Bridge I Cross on Fridays” The Sunday Whirl #160

  1. A wonderful piece!

  2. Yes..death is always with us whether we are the one left behind or gone..perhaps having that in common with every being on the earth is a certainty – though not necessarily a comfort

  3. Really like that title. You did it my friend, remember that. Happy Mother’s Day to you.

    Love and hugs,
    Elizabeth
    http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2014/05/10/sit-walk-run-fly/

  4. Well done, Pamela. It can’t be easy, but you show us your spirit.
    love, ViV

  5. Frozen by widows who cry for death,
    which has been with them all along

    A finality of morbid feelings experienced by those left behind. Can be a softening effect though! Great write Pamelita!

    Hank
    .

  6. This is a lush haunting of grief… So beautiful, Pamela. I especially love this:
    . . . where dust / keeps me in fascination’s threshold,/ we are tied to one another.

  7. Your poetry, since you lost Michael, is so full of power. At some point I hope you will consider publishing a volume. It could resonate and support others who are going through what you are going through. As Brenda said, haunting is a perfect descriptor.

  8. Such a deep sadness in your words Pamela… and the title — that bridge into a weekend of loneliness.. every week I hope it gets a little easier to cross and come back…

  9. Those last two lines are so powerful and so true. In one way or another we are always close to death.

  10. How easy it was to sit with you on that bale and contemplate a loved one’s resting place where they were, but they weren’t. Did they listen or were they busy elsewhere as I should have been?

  11. so stilling is the voice in this one pamela…capturing a bit of the journey you are on since m’s death….it is heavy with feeling…i hope the sun shines on you a bit this week…smiles

  12. Pamela, I love Victoria’s suggestion you put together – when you are ready – a volume of these poems. To honor Michael, but also as a travel guide for those who grieve. You inspire with the strength of the journey you are making.

I appreciate all comments.

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