for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

To Mary Margaret, “nothing but fine rain” (reflection on an ‘angel’s passing’)

It must be the constant grey sky, the moist air, the tearful silence of still leaves, and the passing away of a niece, Mary Margaret, at 29 years old, invalid most of her growing up years from an undetected source of her seizures–an angel to us all–that midly paralyzed me with a meltdown. Being old, I saw through my life as in a screen: what did really matter and what matters most. I believe she had the perfect answer with her illness having shorn her of the false sun sparks that I could be guilty of racing to catch. The weeks following her death lead me to an overdue clarity of the truths I failed to recognize, hence, left untended. I hope that with my thinning bones, I could still carry a metaphorical watering can to bring them back to life. Would that these three haiku were enough for now…


fall twilight

on her grave nothing

but fine rain


on her tomb

tiny hands sweep

leavings of sparrows 


candle drippings

on her epitaph-

a broken word

November 17, 2019 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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