at times a poem
that comes to me at morning—
too real to write—
takes away my trembling breath
as it breaks my aching heart
Copyright © Liz Bennefeld, 2020-11-24.
Recognizing the inevitable loss of friends, family members, and mentors over the years.
mourning once again
the loss of those who loved me
who brightened my life
locked themselves away from me—
walked away . . . I stand alone
Copyright © Liz Bennefeld, 2019-11-16.
Day 15 prompt: a “middle” poem
Edited to add: Another in the previous generation of relatives just died this morning; he was 95 years old. Alert and lucid to the end; a low blood oxygen level for a couple days, and then his heart just stopped beating.
what’s the capitol
of the Peace Garden State?
where’s the garden at?
we learned all the answers there
working for Dad, clipping grass
Copyright © 1 November 2019, by Elizabeth Bennefeld.
When we were children (there were seven of us, and I am assuming that others got roped into this, each in their turn), Dad hired us during May and as needed during summer school vacations to maintain the grounds of the village cemetery where he was the groundskeeper and sexton. He didn’t retire until he was in his 90s. There was particular need for us children to prepare the cemetery for Memorial Day and to refurbish things after the influx of visitors during the following months. My brother Tim and I worked together, being close in age, and we would pass the time by challenging each other with such miscellanea as state and country capitols and other interesting trivia.
My mother died three years ago, this month, and my father followed her three-and-a-half months later. Their ashes are buried next to the family monument, near two siblings whose lives were measured in days.
still, silent in their stark frames–
wait for tears to fall
12 months, too short for mourning …
too soon, the memories fade
too short, mourning. Copyright 2017-08-18, by Lizl Bennefeld.