Image by Jim Semonik from Pixabay
Copyright © 2021-01-28, by Lizl Bennefeld.
wake to morning’s light
sadness visits every life
get up…move along
sorrow outlasts victory
life’s poems always end
I found myself
wondering why my parents
haven’t phoned, today
I’m caught up short, remembering
they’re on Heaven’s direct line
Copyright © 2019-05-27, Memorial Day, by Lizl Bennefeld.
Memorial Day was “our” family holiday. It’s now my remembering. After my parents were discharged, they returned to Father’s home town to realize their life’s long-held dream of raising lots of children, together. (Eventually, there were nine of us, seven living into adulthood.) My father was groundskeeper (one of many jobs) and then the sexton, of the village cemetery, and we children, while growing up, worked with him to get the grounds ready for the Memorial Day observances. Mother was in the Navy, and Father was in the Army, separated overseas, but both serving in the Pacific Theater. (In uniform).
So many names, so many faces I no longer remember, voices muted by the overwhelming years. I threw away their letters. Burned their photographs. Drowned grief in nights of walking…days at the piano, my hands exhausted, my fingers worn. All is gone but for faded memories of having known.
no pretense… no dress rehearsal
letting go doesn’t get easier
familiar footsteps approach
pass by without a pause
Copyright© 2018-08-11, by Elizabeth W. Bennefeld.
Also published this date on the Quilted Poetry blog and inspired by a photograph (third one from the top) on Thomas Gable’s post: Spring is Near on the blog When Timber Makes One Still.
reflected in the water
the sunset sky
dark clouds dot the surface
stepping-stones across the lake
Copyright © 2018-07-25, by Lizl Bennefeld.
“i did not want to trouble her”
i would not trouble her
with present reality
the look behind her eyes, knowing
that she did not know,
worrying what she’d once again forgotten
that should always have been remembered
i’d said good-bye a month ago,
then left her undisturbed–
living cherished, not alone
in the simple “now”
i could not trouble her,
let her long-feared flaws and failures
drift by unnoticed
to the end of the beginning
of eternal life
together once again with her mother
and her beloved father
those she never, through it all, forgot
Copyright © 2017-07-26, by Elizabeth W. Bennefeld.
if I do not remember
if I cannot remember you…
my love, let me go
let me not remember either
all the rest
or, fearful, fret
at what I’ve lost
that leaves me with such
losing the clear, sweet memories of you
I’ve lost everything
let go the empty shell
“if I do not remember”. Copyright © 2017-07-26, by Elizabeth W. Bennefeld.
These poems, although I posted the second one today on my poetry blog, belong together. Remembering is a way, I think, to let go of grief by understanding the loss. In this case, the loss of my parents, this last winter.