Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Mag 270 — imprint

Today, five months after your death,
two young deer surprised me in the
yard at dawn. One trotted rhythmically
across the lawn, but the other stood
stoically feet away and we regarded
one another with quiet understanding.

The day held sunshine that filtered
through the slats and rays streaked
your bed. I lie briefly there each
night, my head quieted, my bones
sinking into spots where you slept.
Truth is, I still weep for you there.

At dusk clouds bloated with moisture
chugged across the sky, competing
with the sun. Eventually, as was pre-
dicted, they won. But the glorious
contest colored a modest rainbow,
while birds worked on symphonies.

Tonight gentle rain misted the yard
you loved well. It puddled in huge
rocks where it fell, those turquoise
ones we had hauled here that are
beloved by butterflies in summer.
I think they leave their prints behind.

Written for The Mag: Mag 270 that inspired with the above image prompt: artwork 
by Ulrike Bolenz.


Berowne said...

Beautifully nostalgic and quite moving...

X said...

The sense of loss and dealing with life in the after is heavy in this one. I had a student pass away two days ago, at the age of 14. It is still heavy on me. Cherish the reminders and walk the path of grief, to deny it is to carry it for far too long.

Kutamun said...

Dragon Flies are good at carrying the fire , enough to bring a tear even to Cormac Mccarthies glass eye ....well done

Kathe W. said...

eloquent and elegant....this is so close to my heart. I walk about our land with the animals accepting my quiet demeanor and silent footsteps. They accept me. It's quite lovely.

Lester Kish said...

Hi Lydia, this is so relatable. Who hasn't looked at a spot, now vacant, where a moment was once shared. And the deer? We regard each other often, while I bumble along streamside while fishing. Best regards....

~T~ said...


Tess Kincaid said...

Poignant and beautiful...



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