This is an old poem I wrote while my parents were alive, but given the world's current sorrowful state and d'Verse's tribute to Louise Gluck (recipient of the 2020 Nobel Prize for literature) who was known for her insight into loneliness, family relationships, divorce, and death, I thought it an appropriate time to share.
My father and I say the
rosary on the drive home
from the
hospital.
I forget a line
in the Our Father
and mumble my
trespasses.
He finishes for
me.
How could I
forget
that which was
memorized at the knee
of Sister
Severe?
Swimming
upstream in his wake,
I navigate the
mysteries,
the joyful and the sorrowful mingling like water and salt—
Let it be known that no one who sought
thy intercession was left unaided.
He stumbles on
the words,
they fall into
his handkerchief.
I finish for
him.
The miles pass
unnoticed
and the mysteries come to an end
but the road
continues and the day approaches
when there
won’t be anyone left
to remember
what is forgotten.
14 comments:
You captured that ride with your father perfectly, the rosary recitation, words falling ... A beautiful write, Yvonne.
Such a beautiful poem, so delicate. "He stumbles on the words,they fall into his handkerchief.
I finish for him" is love.
I love what you capture so much, and that closing...when we cannot even remember what is forgotten.
This is such a touching, heartfelt poem, Yvonne. I love the intimacy of the opening stanza and your father finishing ‘Our Father’ for you. These lines resonate with me:
‘Swimming upstream in his wake,
I navigate the mysteries,
the joyful and the sorrowful mingling like water and salt’,
and the words falling into his handkerchief. A powerful evocation of grief.
This is just so good! Every word fits into place like a bead on a rosary. Yesterday was the anniversary of my mother's death, and I feel your words deeply.
I felt each line a prayer and a memory, like beads on a rosary, until breaths are stilled by tears or loss. This is what poetry is all about. Simply beautiful, Yvonne.
Very well written, Yvonne. You raise some interesting questions.
Love the story. Remembering this when we finish the rosary all together.
Grace, thank you, and thanks for the open link.
Dwight,
Thanks. I always enjoy your posts.
Dora,
Thank you! Like beads on a rosary...I love that.
Jane,
Thank you so much. Your loss is more recent but the absence lingers.
Kim,
Thank you!
Brudberg,
And thanks to you, as well, a constant contributor and commenter here. It doesn't go unnoticed.
Di,
Thanks!!
Helen,
First up! Thank you so much.
Wow, Yvonne, that last paragraph perfectly captures the biggest angst of aging: the forgottenness that feels like it will render everything that was so powerfully relevant into dust.
I am really blown away by your poem and how it so delicately portrays the relationship with an aging parent, too.
Love the close Yvonne! It's a reality in life that we alone remain standing eventually. Pray for long life to have the privilege!
Hank
Kim, thank you so much! that's exactly what I was reaching for when I wrote this one. The angst of forgetting what was once so meaningful. Thank you,
Hank,
Thank you!! I do pray for that privilege.
Beautiful poem.
As terrible as it may sound, I am glad my parents are not alive to see what our world looks like right now. They would be devastated to see that nothing really changes.
Post a Comment