RE: [ticket2write] Re: Raised Names in the Sun
- Thank you Suzianne. This was written to honor the death of a child of one of
my writing instructors. The little one struggled to live at birth and died
later for reasons my professor didn't go into. His marriage was the second
casualty. I was thinking about the sorrow that was enveloping Newtown these
days and dug this up to share.
From: email@example.com [mailto:firstname.lastname@example.org] On
Behalf Of Susan Donahue
Sent: Tuesday, December 18, 2012 11:39 AM
Subject: [ticket2write] Re: Raised Names in the Sun
This is beautiful. My genealogy research frequently leads me to graves and
I have noticed that each cemetery has a sort of personality of its own.
Your observatons are interesting.
--- In email@example.com, "Jim Lamoreux" wrote:
Raised Names in the Sun
What is this place called
Where the sun delicately kisses dew
From long, trimmed lawns
Green blades like fingers tapping.
And in the grass
The stray lawn trimmed away
Who are these people
Why are their names here
Under this bright
And persistent sun?
In the distance
Cars move by the iron fence,
An angel stands in a stony signal
To a turning sky.
Who are these strangers
That sleep without a sound beneath these markers While above them The
careless white noise of Life hums on?
I have come here
Looking for something
My senses too raw to know.
I have come here
My heart breaking
From forces that flutter
Like butterflies upon my window.
Beyond these decorated gates
The world moves to and fro
Like debris in an empty field.
Beyond these gates
There is birth and death igniting, then Rocketing all over the world Like
wind blown embers in the night From a fire that I sat by There in the
darkness with my love.
I am brought
To this world of raw silence,
Passing each grave like a ghost,
No name to recognize
No place to kneel
No spot to pause and weep
Into the evaporating air,
As the sun touches me
With long fingers
Heating the minutes
Into shimmering mites of Time
My hand reaches across
Borders that expand
In one long breath
To the very ends of the Universe
My fingers touch at the morning air
Heavy with dissolving dew
And hover over that single place
Laid among the others
And touch the raised letters
Of a name.
It's like opening a secret lock
To an old door
And as it opens on loud hinges
Things emerge that make me remember
Things I can touch, things I can never touch again.
And in that moment
Where the curtain that Death draws around a life Seems so impenetrable I
realize that beside me Fathers, Mothers, Daughters, Sons, All join me here
And touch their own raised And sun warmed names On different days At
But always together.
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