BOOKS

Second Parent: a memoir

SECOND PARENT

Trillium
soft and sweet

purveyor of the past
keeper of secrets

what is it
that your slender petals
do not say?

RETURNING

You return to grief
to sink into it

not run or hide
but let it wash over you
to embrace the pull

of a thousand perennial tides.
You bend your knees
to feel the salty sand underneath

again and again
you resemble
what you once were

but weathered and bare
you’re now something new -
smoother, finer, softer.

You sink deeper

into the night’s darkness
so that you may embrace the light
of the moon.

RIVER’S EDGE

In the damp forest
it’s easier to imagine
me
as I know to be.

My hands and heart
lead the way.
At the river’s edge
I kneel.

This is where I pray,
in the arms of trees.

I dip my hands
into the cool
flowing water.
History has no hold here.

Sand runs through
my open fingers,
pebbles dance
upon weathered whorls.

In my palm
I cradle a single small stone.
Feeling the weight,
I stand in awe.

Imagining what it once was.
Imagining what it will become.