I ache to dream of them while I’m asleep.

My own art

Tersa Rima

I was almost drowned  by deep,dark  grief
I have wept  at home and wept abroad.
I lost my early childhood to these deaths

I have  known grief  spread like rivers wide
I ‘ve been  wracked  by   painful spasms of  tears
I have felt the absence of  my God.

I’ve known grief for  more than sixty years
My father and his brother were the first
I have met no  being who’s been spared.

Yet we have no permission  here to weep
I long for ritual like  my writer’s pen
I ache  to dream of them  while I’m asleep.

Like a fox hides in a hole or den
I would like to hide  when day begins
Uncontained  by  his love  again

As a tree mourns for each little leaf
As God mourns his human life so brief
I have been demolished  by  wild grief
I have  seen lost ghosts, yet still believe

The only ritual

The ritual is to put the garbage out
My day begins the night before it’s due
When I recall the day, I have to count
Instead of Mass, we put the garbage out
No Confession so no sin,no horrid doubt
No neighbours and no prayer,no ancient pew
The only ritual left, toss garbage out
My mind begins to think about the clue