Saturday, January 28, 2023

Unspoken Words to the Dying,

 

There are some griefs so loud
They could bring down the sky,
And there are griefs so still
None knows how deep they lie,
Endured, never expended.
~May Sarton, "Of Grief," A Durable Fire, 1972

 

 

When my father was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer, my stepmom could not bear for him to be told.  I am not entirely sure how he was in the dark of it all, but we continued with the façade that there was hope, and hence words that needed to be spoken that would have been obvious of what was happening were never said.

 One day on morphine and nearer to passing, my dad was hallucinating as only a very logical engineer could have done.  He would very matter of factly ask me, “do you hear that music?”  or “Do you see that car moving in the painting?”  When I answered with a bewildered no, he remained silent and unfazed.  I cannot help but think that music is something that crosses the border of here and heaven.  He was hearing the echoes of where he was headed.  Some sounds preach truth no matter what secrets may be kept. That is my thoughts on it and like the hope for miracles, that is what I choose to hold on to. 

 

I kept words folded and starched in an innermost closet like formal attire for a place I would never be able to go.

 You see, one cannot dance at the reception hall if the building has been burned to the ground.

Yet, still I dance alone with a grace that loneliness carries.

Swaying with words that know how to move in my company but never step out of that room.

It sounds absurd to someone else, but I know where they stand and why.

And I listen because I need to.

For I must remember, and I shall!

I smoke them like a joint.

Holding my breath hard as I wait for something more.

But there was a time that I was the voice that carried high, like a song reaching for broader skies.

Now my heart is a nightbird; still and quiet in the daylight.

You say I look brave and sure like a train to the city, but don’t be fooled my dear!

I am thoughts unspoken and dubious.

The regret of a thousand backward falls.

I am an old frayed ribbon from the gift of memory of long long ago.

Just one hard pull and I could break.


Linking with Shay's Word Garden (Janis Ian is the featured poet and singer/songwriter)

& the Sunday Muse for Muse #244

Come join us!


23 comments:

  1. Then you must bend and foil the baddies. This is a poignant piece indeed, Carrie.

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    1. Thank you so much Shay. I am not sure how I missed your comment, but I am responding now. I always appreciate your thoughts on my poems. You are a legend in your own time with poetry. If genius poetry could make someone rich, you would own a yacht, have a Jaguar, and live in a mansion where no haikus could be spoken within the halls.

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  2. Carrie, I feel every line of this, and so resonate with the emotion. I also identify with your father hearing music as he was passing from this world to the next. My grandma told me about a friend of hers who, in a coma, found herself crossing a desert. She could hear, around a bend in a river, a boat coming towards her. The rowers were singing. Then she returned to this world. It wasnt her time yet. I have written of this a few times. That generation found it hard to speak the truth, I think. In the last year of my mother's life, she stopped drinking, which was amazing. But at her funeral, not one word was said about how big a thing that was. No one was allowed to even identify alcohol as a problem. Little did they know, they had a writer in the family, whose medium is words, and who writes about everything, because it is all part of life, the bad and the good, the living and the dying. This is a really beautiful piece. Your writing is going very deep this year, and I so resonate with your journey and your writing.

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    1. Thank you so much Sherry. I appreciate the connection we have in our lives and our poetry. Your story of your mom does resonate with me too. You have been through so much and have so much beautiful poetry from your experience. When we are writers, our hearts do want to speak the truth and all that it captures. Thank you so much for your lovely words and encouragement my dear friend. You always inspire me!

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    2. I most love "Now my heart is a nightbird." I think mine is too. I have grown increasingly more silent and watchful......

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    3. Yes, and I think that wisdom holds a watchful silence. Time and experience can provide that. I am speaking of wisdom more for you than me. You are a wise soul my friend. 💜

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  3. Carrie, this is so damn beautiful, my friend! And so exquisitely painful, and yet also carries a wry humour in some lines <3 I just love it! These lines in particular:

    "Yet, still I dance alone with a grace that loneliness carries."

    "I smoke them like a joint."

    "Now my heart is a nightbird; still and quiet in the daylight."

    "The regret of a thousand backward falls."

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    1. Thank you so much Sunra. Your response made my day my friend! Thank you! It is always wonderful to have you and your lovely writing at the Muse.

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  4. Carrie, to me this is a beautiful write of the goings on of when death time is near. I read it trying to feel how old you (or the writer) was. I've heard second hand Mrs. Jim's father from her and from my sister when my dad died. Mrs. Jim's father was young, angry she was seven. My dad was 97 and I was 1000 miles away, my sister lived close but not present for his last breath, Mrs. Jim was bedside with her mom. Neither has such a detailed account as yours. Thank you.
    An aside, your use of the word "been" with the church burning exudes my thought of arson. Was it?
    ..

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  5. This is a powerful combination of the unspoken and the visible; so much of this
    poem feels like hope, contradicting the assumption that what can't be said must be worse. A good poem to encounter on a rainy Sunday.

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    1. Thank you Chrissa! I always love your comments. They are a bit of poetry all on their own. It was such a rainy Sunday for sure. Looks like we may have a few rainy days this week. Stay dry my friend.

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  6. This is beautiful filled with real life and raw emotions. I believe he heard the music ushering him to the other side.

    These lines just pull at the heartstrings...

    "Yet, still I dance alone with a grace that loneliness carries"
    "Now my heart is a nightbird; still and quiet in the daylight"

    Truedessa

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    1. Thank you so much Truedessa, and I agree with you on the music. I so enjoyed your poem as well. Have a wonderful week my friend!

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  7. "I am an old frayed ribbon from the gift of memory "
    Oh definitely one is fragile in the face of suffering that brings ultimate death.
    Your images are so sharp. Bravo.

    Much❤love

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    1. Awww thank you Gillena. I appreciate your words. Have a great week my friend.

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  8. Carrie, I felt your heart opening up on this write. I also believe that hearing can travel between the realms of life and the place after it.

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    1. Thank you so much Lisa. It was one from deep in the heart.

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  9. Carrie, you have touched every inch of my being with this gorgeous post. If music ushers me to the netherworld ... I can think of nothing finer.

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    1. What a beautiful thing to say Helen. Thank you so much 💖

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  10. "I am an old frayed ribbon from the gift of memory of long long ago.

    Just one hard pull and I could break."

    This touched me very deeply. I hope to hear music when it's time to go.

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    1. Thank you so much Sara! I agree on leaving this world with music and I appreciate your sweet comment my friend.

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  11. This is soothing in its sad tone, comforting in its compassion. I really love this Carrie!!

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  12. The whole post is outstanding but the last five lines.. pure genius.

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"Our best thoughts come from others." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson