MOURNING

MOURNING  

Try to tell the woman changing her husband’s/dressings he might not see this year’s first snow./ ---From “Try” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 08-18-11

I will not lose you, not this fall, nor winter,

not when leaves abandon their trembling

branches, not when snow covers dead twigs,

not while I have enough life for both of us.

No. You cannot leave even when that is easy,

you cannot simply turn around, run, give up,

and limply bare your neck for the sneering

reaper to slice through it like I would a hen’s

throat, and still be cocksure I will forgive you,

because I will not, not when dying becomes

the final act of betrayal, the unkindest cut

of all. I need you to gather the firewood

that should last us through all our winters,

harvest the berries we’d throw at each other

before summer burns them into ugly prunes,

to watch autumn paint a graffiti of rainbows

around the porch we pieced together when

we built this house fencing in our home.

No. I will never let you leave me in spring. 

O, if only her silence were just the stillness

of a quiet memory. Not ceaseless mourning.

---Albert B. Casuga

08-18-11