A new poem from Martie,
tender and heartrending, in memory
of her precious daughter Michelle.

Birth

I could always feel you ponder
in dark eyed questioning
often lingering on despair
to repair the fighting that you took with you
from the womb
where you listened all curled and sucking
on a fragile finger

No doubt you heard my tears
and felt the vagrant sigh to sky
I wet you with my inner voice of screams
you felt my dreams
wild traitors that told the fear
of holding you and not knowing with what arms

For I was fallen myself
so how was I to catch you then
all squirm and too soon

I tried to place you at my table
by using the utensils with which my mother ate
but you were not a tool to play a mother’s rule
caught within my youth’s velvet purse
you were my fragile futures worst

How I loved your spirit’s flow
turning me into someone I didn’t know until
all my days were you adorned
your life the birthplace of my mourn

Paper Memories

How could I not write of her
not write of her in February
when her blushed cheeks glowed
and she wanted to wear
those flannel pajamas with feet
all the time

I have her blue blanket
torn and blistered from her dragging
and did you know that it was mine too
put away in tissue and wrapped with love
like brand new when I gave it to her
she took it with her all around
and now it fades away in the box
with the drawings and hand prints
that I cannot look at most times
for I am not brave enough
to count the tears she shed
learning the alphabet
or laughs that are there
in paper memories

I know I build this month
with layers of years and days
of springs and summers when to capture her
is not what I think of every morning
not a wisp of her all day creeps
past good old time that heals all things
except for mothers
and I’m thankful for the wound

It is like her pointing a finger at me
and saying I am still with you
was a part of you
and always always will be there
to drop tinsel on your February
and dance around in the attic of your mind
making footprints that you can feel
with your living

So forgive me all who read again and again
in February of the time so long ago
when youth was mine
and I thought all things were possible
for I cannot not write of her in February
it is all that I have

You Leave Me With Permanence

Did you see that clear line
following the curve of the mountain
where the sky touched?
It whistled to me.
I could hear it ‘round the house
as the leaves danced to get my attention.

And so I bundled my shoulders in flannel
and turned my heart to the north
and saw you there
dressed in those long stockings
and black leather shoes,
you were wearing the red velvet dress
even though I could have sworn that I covered it,
wrapped it tight with tissue
and snuggled it next to my wedding dress.

You must know how hard it is to touch,
because fabric lives and lives
while people die,
for you were wise even then,
and now that you know the answers
to all the questions that I have asked,
there you are
not a shadow, no,
but torched in bright beguile
galloping across the mountain
where your ashes feathered and fell
so many years ago.

I want you to know that you have taught me
about listening and patience,
you were never good at either then,
and as I watch you blow out
like a candle flame
you leave me with permanence.