Part of what has been so interesting to me, going through my old journals, stories and poetry is remembering why they were written. This poem was written on July 27, 1996.
Having read it, I'm sure that I was at my first job completely away from home. I was at Horse Cave Theatre, in Horse Cave, Kentucky, while my family was at Ft. Polk, Louisiana. It was the middle of the afternoon/ early evening. I was done at the costume shop for the day, though my house mates would be at least an hour in the scene shop, so I was completely alone in the apartment. And I called my mother.
Rock in my heart and lump in my throat,
I sit dry eyed to the news.
Death, so full of poetic beauty,
holds no such glamour in practice.
Sorrow, so delicate in the words of pity,
slashes through joy as does a cat-of-nine-tails through flesh.
Shock overrides empathy,
locking time and emotion in limbo,
And comfort eludes my grasp,
as the touch of a hug and the lock of eyes,
so important to communication,
refuse to make the journey of wires.
The line is severed by our hands
-the moment left unfinished
-the pain left unshared
separated by two days,
thousands of miles and twenty years;
united by blood, love and unquenched sadness,
It's the day she told me the dog had gotten into antifreeze and died, but more importantly, much, much more importantly, it's the day she told me that my Grandpa Ervin was diagnosed with cancer.