The Uncertain Sky, An Elegy for Donna

Another Elegy for my friend Donna who recently passed away after an
aneurysm and stroke.

The Uncertain Sky
An Elegy for Donna

As I draw a single line through your name
in my address book, not too dark, so I can read
the letters, not too dark, as if by writing lightly,
you might somehow return,
as I watch the pencil cut letter by letter
through your name, I burst out crying.
I am a flood of tears; I wail and howl.
Though I haven't seen you for months,
almost years, I can't believe you are gone.
For those who saw you daily, who laughed
at your jokes and stories, who felt the warmth
and sweet smell of your skin, how merciless
the morning clouds. I haven't forgotten you.
Even after senility and death, you will be with me.
Outside, the last faded leaves cling to the uppermost
branches. I wipe my eyes and stare
into the uncertain sky. One leaf
detaches, and floats, this way and that,
lifted, then dashed by a breeze, as our hopes
were dashed, lifted and crushed after your stroke.
A momentary shaft of sun lights the last yellow
and gold leaf and together, they vanish.

Mary Stebbins Taitt

Sounding the Sea, an Elegy for Donna

Sounding the Sea, an Elegy for Donna

I.
My husband scorches me with his skin, so hot
I often turn away and gasp, throw off the covers. But not
tonight. Tonight, I cling to him, savoring his heat, the touch
of his body along the length of mine, the reassuring
scent of his flesh. I think of you, suddenly gone
from the world, from my life, from yourself
and your earthly body, from your grieving husband
and children, and remember how you loved,
so lustfully, so heartily. How happy you had finally
become, with Terry, with your remodeled home,
with you new lean body, with your life. Happy.
Pleased with your 900-pound moose, all that food
a year's worth, maybe. And the next day, your aneurysm
and stroke, your coma. The waiting. The agonizing
of family and friends, the hopes rising and falling. Finally,
the letting go. The tears. How intelligent you were,
how funny. Hilarious. The stories you told!
You held us spellbound. Your heart was so big that we all
found a home inside. You could sound the deepest ocean
with the depth of your caring. But you turned into a tiger
when your children were threatened. Attacked evil
with a shovel and a strong arm. Farm woman, Jill
of all trades, keeper of pigs, chickens, dogs, cats, a cow.
You lived at the edge of the world, the edge of the forest,
the end of the country. Beyond you, there was nothing,
and now nothing has moved in, leaving a gaping hole.

II.
My husband scorches me with his skin, so hot
I often turn away and gasp, throw off the covers.
I think of Terry, his sorrowing arms empty of you, I think of you,
no longer able to lie beside him, and wonder if angels
remember and enjoy the pleasures of the flesh.
Oh, how in dreams I turn to love! How hard the table feels,
bruising my knuckles. How wet the water, drowning me,
until I wake in terror. How cold the snow. How precise
the dreaming mind can be, amidst the flight and the fantastic,
how solid can be flesh, and warm, and hungry. Eager.
Can you feel his arms and ours, do you, out there beyond, dream
of him, of us, as we dream of you?

Mary Stebbins Taitt
081026-0949-1st

I do not usually post my poems to No Polar Coordinates, but to Half-formed. But I wanted to post this one because a dear friend just died and I wanted to share my grieving (since no one ever goes to half-formed.) This is a FIRST DRAFT, so it is not ready for critical examination yet.