Easter was my favorite holiday when I was a child
Somehow it was always sunny, the warm rays
of the daystar shining in through the panes
of the living room windows
gleaming on the polished hardwood floor
brightening the paneling around the hearth
warming the space, like a nest might be warm
and shining through the colored cellophane of the baskets
casting a glow of pink or green or yellow
wherever the light fell
I felt safe and happy
Today’s living room, that of my adulthood
holds the same promise
sunlight flooding through the many square panes
of the three windows
making rectangles of bright squares on the oak floorboards
shining through the suncatchers crafted by my daughter
scattering patches of crimson, royal blue, and emerald green
wherever the light slants
warming the space, like a nest might be warm
I should have wanted to come in from the cold
In other seasons, the warm quietude would nourish me
but in the season of my mother’s death
I feel the weight of grief whenever it is still
the bright quiet stillness of refuge
should have her presence in it
does have her presence in it
and yet she is gone, most grievously gone
I can only miss her and miss her and know that she is gone
as I rest in the warm quietude of my room
No wonder I long for the brisk busyness
of the bright and cold and windy day outside
she is present in the wind and the bother
the way she always was, ready to go and be and do
seek adventures, make new friends, savor new experiences
she is not gone in the great outdoors
but meets me at very corner
in the very slap of each gust of wind
resurrected within the hustle and bustle
my mother who was so thoughtful
but who loved to laugh and climb the heights
There in her milieu—lively and brisk and warmly bright
all at the same time—I greet her
In memory of my mother:
Futile Seeking
Gusty and Fresh
I See Her in Nature
In Memoriam
Bright Radiance
Grievous Loss
