Thursday, March 31, 2011

Dr. Mary's Memorial memory

There so many friends of my mothers out there all over the country who couldn't be at her memorial at Green Acre in Eliot. This bit of a memory is for them. The room was full. People came forward to share memories. I wanted to take my turn, but it seemed too soon. I did write a poem, not a very good one I should say. There was a million words in the air. I hastily grabbed a handful. I wasn't feeling grief--felt more like applauding a long distance runner who had crossed the finish line having won the race convincingly. What she couldn't accomplish, she left to others she had inspired. They became doctors, humanitarians, teachers, mothers and fathers who don't turn away when they see a tear in an eye. And they became sons.
My contribution was read by my daughter.

Indian Sunset

I was hoping
I think you were too
If there was an Indian summer left in you
A reward for fixing broken bodies and shattered spirits
A last season on the porch
Of swaying and being swayed
By the colorful sleep of the twilight sky
"See this sunset," you'd say,
"Abdu'l-Baha loved the sunsets at Green Acre
Can't you picture Him walking on stairs of light
To the other world?"
And there you go
A dying sun burning brightest at the end
All the eyes of the universe giving reverence to this moment
Your moment
To be seen
And heard
And remembered

1 comment:

  1. You never fail to bring a lump in my throat and a tear of emotion to my eye. Your soul must be spotless.