Skyward
October permeates the sky,
infinite, primary blue.
Stalwart redwoods converse
about origins of life
and maple trees resist the urge
to turn copper, crimson, brown.
Within their agonized leaves,
not willing to let go of summer,
oak moths flutter
like too many angels
we forgot to listen to.
It is the season between seasons.
Time of heartbreak as you remember
burying your only son--
your DNA scrambled
by the merciless fate of being
human.
Oh, look skyward!
Winged beings-- stellar jay, woodpecker
hawk, hummingbird, chickadee
are clamoring at the window
of your perpetual grief.
Let them in…
Let the displaced air of their truth
penetrate fibers of despair,
set you free to rejoice again
simply because life is miraculous
beyond your tears.
Kate Aver Avraham loves words whether she is writing them, editing them or reading them. She has been published numerous times, including her recent book of poems, Arms of My Longing from Blue Light Press. She lives in Aptos, Ca. at the glorious edge of the redwood forest.
October permeates the sky,
infinite, primary blue.
Stalwart redwoods converse
about origins of life
and maple trees resist the urge
to turn copper, crimson, brown.
Within their agonized leaves,
not willing to let go of summer,
oak moths flutter
like too many angels
we forgot to listen to.
It is the season between seasons.
Time of heartbreak as you remember
burying your only son--
your DNA scrambled
by the merciless fate of being
human.
Oh, look skyward!
Winged beings-- stellar jay, woodpecker
hawk, hummingbird, chickadee
are clamoring at the window
of your perpetual grief.
Let them in…
Let the displaced air of their truth
penetrate fibers of despair,
set you free to rejoice again
simply because life is miraculous
beyond your tears.
Kate Aver Avraham loves words whether she is writing them, editing them or reading them. She has been published numerous times, including her recent book of poems, Arms of My Longing from Blue Light Press. She lives in Aptos, Ca. at the glorious edge of the redwood forest.
