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Featured on Buck Books
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush;
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there; I did not die.
~Author Unknown~
My Son
by Kenna McKinnon
He stands bearded in a striped shirt
with his arms around his mother on the cover of a book.
He's someone's son, not mine, but
my son once
bought the book and gave it to me
Without inscription or comment but
I have this book in front of me
like emails or like phone calls like a visit
Infrequent looming at my door with…
what? the day behind him or in front the night?
Many years the small
child in a turquoise suit I placed upon the floor
To wait as adults more important;
Yes, the years of forests
Now he is the tallest of the trees.
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Beautiful, Kenna. Thanks for sharing with us.---
ReplyDeleteYou're welcome, Judi, and thanks for the comment. Steve liked blues and Eric Clapton, BB King, TJ Hooker, etc. and played the guitar very well himself. He would have enjoyed that video and who knows, perhaps he listened to it.
ReplyDeleteI shared with Steve the poem I wrote about a year or two ago, when I first wrote it. He never saw the anonymous poem, although he might have, because I also chose that one to be read at my own memorial, when it comes. Now the time of mourning and the tough day is passed, and life is for the living, as Steve would have agreed, and as my father always said, and they both (all) live in our hearts. We must pick up the torch and go on, living as best we can, and honor those who are gone but not forgotten.
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