breaking

not particularly wanting

to put words on paper

nothing twirling in my head

requiring the pen

perhaps last week

wrung the letters

out of me

as i sought to

remember and honor him

the son of our friends

child now grown

who left us too soon

that poem

if indeed it is a poem

is too long

and probably not

the best choice to post

his passing is

too much with us

so the sweat of writing

seems something

to avoid

especially on this

warm blue-skied day

that falls hollow

on the most grieved

but tries to call me

back to the

world of the living

even as sadness sings

from the boughs now broken

of our backyard trees

under which

once upon a time

as little boys

they rode hot wheels

and green machines

at birthday parties

rock a bye . . .

christie smith stephens

august, 2011

with prayers for our friends

who have had to say goodbye

for now to their son