A Poem for the End of the Year
Another year of losses, of big questions that elbow their way into the room and refuse to leave. A young man who grew up down the street and went to school with my kids was stabbed to death at a party this weekend. Two young men charged with his murder had a brother killed in Iraq at the beginning of the war.
What happens to kids? What makes one succumb while another one thrives? I don’t understand it, and all my pat answers, fears and suspicions merely mask the fact that I simply don’t know. I can’t keep my kids safe now that they’re grown, and the more beautifully they blossom the more I am aware of how fragile our hold is on this life we cherish.
This year the shadow of death fell very close to my family. I lost a brother-in-law, a beloved uncle, and just a few days ago an aunt—and these are merely the deaths I can remember off the top. As my friend Oak writes so eloquently, it has also been a year of stripping away old belief systems, pulling the plug on all the ways that our stories impede our vision. So when I saw this poem in the New Yorker this morning I decided it was the right one to mark the longest night. I’ll see you all again when the sun rises through it.
Alba Red
Hung vial I.V. morphine drip
hummingbird feeder
where the cats can’t get it
long brake light occluded in billowing exhaust
in the chill predawn fog of a final
wish in the world,
and the sun rising through it.
—Richard Kenney
December 21st, 2007 at 11:03 am
Love to you.
December 21st, 2007 at 11:35 am
Having kids can certainly be one of the scariest things……….all the knowledge & philospophy we’ve gained thru living/for ourselves stripped away (at times). Some in a blaze of glory & other in a feeling of defeat/gloom.
As you quoted above:
in the chill predawn fog of a final
wish in the world,
and the sun rising through it.
blessings & love to you
December 25th, 2007 at 3:56 pm
You said:
What happens to kids? What makes one succumb while another one thrives? I don’t understand it, and all my pat answers, fears and suspicions merely mask the fact that I simply don’t know. I can’t keep my kids safe now that they’re grown, and the more beautifully they blossom the more I am aware of how fragile our hold is on this life we cherish.
I have three teen age boys, one of whom is 17, and discovered this past week that someone he knows murdered an elderly man who was out delivering Christmas cards to his neighbors. Scary times.
But hopeful ones, too. The boys are talking - to each other, to me, to their dad…
Hope is all we’ve got sometimes.
And hummingbird feeders, too.
::hugs::
(long time lurker)
December 27th, 2007 at 11:05 am
Oh, how awful! All of these stories of what happens to our kids as they sidle up towards adulthood are in my mind this week, as I put together my online classes on Pagan/spiritual parenting. There’s a lot to think about.
February 21st, 2008 at 5:52 am
Most of the hummingbirds flight to Mexican regions during winter. Some may migrate to southern California to Florida, and many others may prefer the Panama expanse.