for Holly
(December 1957- March 2010)
We here now
are messaging wildly across
six states and two continents.
How?
So fast?
So unexpected.
Such shock.
How?
Holly the joiner,
the planner, the considerate thinker,
the group collector.
Holly takes care of things.
We send our Holly our share
after the flowers and cards
in remembrance of many celebrations
and many sad passes.
In my garden
sits the porcelain child
from one such memorial
twelve years back.
And when we forget,
or when we've been quiet,
our Holly sends out word
it's time we gather,
or talk
yet again.
We who had our children early
now fill wide the lens with our
extended limbs.
She, Holly, who waited
fits the frame holding
secure the hands of
two small girls.
How old the rosy twins?
Six?
I weep for their budding hearts.
I weep for their pending fear.
I weep for a mother's love undone.
We read words on the page
so fresh.
In January she semi-jests,
"Someone needs to shoot
me and put me out of my misery."
We smile.
Holly is tired of being tired.
We understand, or so
we think, post Christmas
rush and all.
We recall
the mounding presents,
the commercial overload
when children are so young.
In February she harks,
"the girls
loved the circus."
She tells us,
"We are getting on
the plane ready to
see the big mouse."
Her Disney words
remind us
of our own
once upon a time.
The snow falls again.
and a friend asks,
"Holly, are you taking
the girls sledding?
May we come too?"
March comes in.
Holly hints she's
been tired awhile.
She tells us she'll
have to break down
and ask the doctor.
She'll finally get things
checked.
She hints.
Holly jokes about
her recent mail,
a membership card to AARP
and a book for children.
She laughs about her life
being quite the
"comedy routine."
Then Holly is a few days quiet.
Just a few.
Two?
This is not the time.
Stop.
Not the time.
Holly has a summer coming.
Holly has girls growing, girls
to get across the middle line.
The dances will be in the field.
The changing of the guard.
Stop.
Do not ask for this flower.
Do not ask us to remember.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
It is but confusion.
There is no time.
We grieve.
We can not think
Holly leaves for light.
We can not think
she releases tender palms.
We cite,
we mark the night
with falling tears.
We hold hours
unspoken, but we
know in our silence,
"But for Holly,
who will collect us now,
who can manage
the task,
and who will
prune the vine
for the coming
blooming roses?"
1976
Scupper © 3/2010
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Ashley Holt
jackie2
The Songbird
Bullet or Film
Ernesto Tinajero
Rodney Roe
Salon.com
Comments
We can not think
Holly leaves for light.
We can not think
she releases tender palms.
We cite,
we mark the night
with falling tears.
so very tender......
i shivered.
thank you for a beautiful poem. Sorry for your loss.
Such profound sorrow.
Much love to you today.
~R~ for Holly
Like John Lennon said, "Life is what happens while we're busy making other plans."
We all get "too busy" and we need to take the time to stay connected to those that matter.
I'm very sorry for your loss.
wishing you peace. & lots of it.