A poem

Zero hour

The world progresses without me,
mocking grief.

Pledges made at zero hour
evaporate as buds of April
pop
in breeze, in sunshine
pushing through a veiled pane.

Pain, mine, frozen still
at zero hour
when pledges poured
from empathetic hearts
steeped in sadness brief.

Hearts are healed
by April bloom.

Not mine.

Not mine.

Fragile buds,
silky, susceptible to frost,
sing for renewal,
a soprano for spring.

I pray for silence.

I pray for healing.

I pray for freeze.


©Copyright 2007

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Author's note: I wrote this one night after a class with Dr. Jane Hoogestraat, English professor at Missouri State University. I forget the poetic term we were discussing, but it had something to do with the personification of nature. I'll have to look that up. Anyway, I wanted to focus on grief -- specifically, grief immediately following a death. When someone dies (that moment I refer to as "zero hour"), friends and family immediately jump to the aid of those left behind. Their message: "If you need ANYTHING, let me know, and I'll be there for you." I've said it to people. You probably have too. But what happens a month later? Usually, those people who've lost a loved one are still suffering, but all of the assistance and offers of help have faded and people have gone back to their lives. I think it's natural, but it's still painful for the ones who are grieving.