(the eighth of December)
.
As fate would have it
I procrastinated
in depression
in sadness
in loss
in abundant deprivation
in feeling overwhelmed
until the spirit of creation
guided me forth
I knew immediately what to write about
even though I shouldn’t have when I first held your letter, but not for any reason you could have known in advance of your prompt.
They say when one door closes
another opens
but it is hard to tell if doors are open
or closed in a room without any windows
to let the light in
Three years to the day
between when he
who first encouraged me to imagine
was taken from existence
and when she who nearly killed my spirit
was brought into it
Perhaps each of those years
was as a day in the tomb
before resurrection
though I couldn’t have seen at the time
yet I should have known
from the beginning
that anyone who was born
on the same day a beloved poet of mine
was murdered
couldn’t have been a good long term fit
for my soul or my strawberry fields
I suffered a spiritual wound
by my own decisions
and another’s actions
rather than a mortal one
by my own hand
Where was I
all those years ago
to let myself know?
The world suffered a spiritual loss
by a singular individual’s decisions
and action
as well as a mortal one
of someone who wove words
into being
Where were we
all those years ago
to warn us?
Where are we now
to see what we’re missing?
.
.
.
.
.
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