Halloween

Last night the spooks roamed the neighborhood collecting treats. Children love wearing costumes and knocking on doors. Teenagers love bringing the candy to school for weeks afterwards.

This week we'll celebrate Dia de los Muertos, Day of the Dead, as communities have thankfully become more aware of the universality and beautiful difference of diverse cultures. We're invited to remember those we have lost, the imperfect saints who have gone before. Writing poetry or a letter to a loved one who has died can be healing. I beleive it's true that although the arts are not therapy, they are therapeutic.

I recently took some time to write an elegy for my mom, and hope that others will write a poem too. Here's mine, send yours.

Elegy

Now might I see you
shoulder pads
two-toned high heels
shaking hands at some event or
taking the hat pins out of your red felt hat
running your hand through your curly black hair

Now might I see you
cooking the flank steak on the table top broiler
clearing the dishes off the stained tablecloth
calling me from 3 rooms away to
“Spit out that gum right now”
Now might I see you on the move
all five foot four inches
dressing down the grocery clerk for being slow
sticking volunteer stamps on a hundred envelopes by the green couch
separating the wet garbage from the dry like they did on the farm
even though it was New York City

The last time I saw you
you lay in the great oak coffin like a wooden ship with brass fixings,
lavender sweater pulled tight over breasts pumped young with embalming,
red lips drawn in a straight line across the cosmetics on your changed face.
You would have liked the bathroom there, glittering sterile,
the rugs sinking deep, vacuum streaks in parallel lines
hushed lighting organized, respectful.
“In a better place now
We gather not to mourn but to celebrate the life”
the life never lying down like this

Now might I still see you even
those last 3 dementia years
my mother yet my child
those last 3 years that I
cried the tears you couldn't
spoke the words you couldn't
held tight the body you couldn't
my little girl those last 3 years

I put a lavender Mum by her cheek
from the packed bouquet over the propped coffin lid
It matched her sweater

She would have liked that