Free: 5.25.16

Posted by Lauren MacArthur

“I would like to die

here

among the flowers,”

you said suddenly,

wet undershirt in one hand,

pinched clothespin

in the other.

“It is so very beautiful.”

I looked up

from the weeds and black flies

alarmed, shattered out of my

youthful reverie

like a fire extinguisher

from glass.

This was fifteen years ago,

and I thought,

“No, you can never leave us.”

But from that uneven ground,

on the paving stones

between the peonies

and the clothesline,

you have assuredly

stumbled towards freedom.

And today,

molting the shell of this life,

you’ve cut the lines

that anchored us to you.

For a moment,

we drift ethereal,

then tie our lines to the living,

to the May trees,

to what is left in this quiet bowl

of sunlight and soil.

(For Luis Batlle, who left this earth today)

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This entry was posted by laurenmacarthur.

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