Haunting 

for the Mother and her lost Child

by Vernie Lynn DeMille 

After the flowers have dried

And the fragrance long since

Turned to dust,

And the ashes of candles or incense 

Have been swept from the corners of the rooms

Where people gathered

To try to smudge out or exorcize

Your memory

From mortality

And move you on, 

With friendly formality, 

From your place at my side

To some unknown place beside God…

 

I try my hands at resurrection, 

To maybe bring back yours.

Just for a moment,

For I wouldn’t want to take away

Your eternity,

Or divine rest, 

Or peaceful sleep,

Or graceful slumber, 

Or whatever name it is

That we’ve rebranded death with these days. 

 

No, I wouldn’t offer you

My paltry, impermanent, mortal

Love, devotion, loyalty, or all

When it is so obviously

A lesser option than

The stones they’re selling

In God’s acre. 

But, if I could, 

If anything of my heart was worth

Just a second of your forever, 

I’d pay it all for

Just the barest hint of touch.

Your tiny fingers on my cheek,

Your heartbeat fluttering against me,

Or I’d even settle for eyelashes, 

And tangle them up with mine 

Again for a moment. 

Or, if touch is too much, 

For you who found living

So much harder than dying, 

I could be happy with laughter.

I wish you would haunt me,

Little one, 

With all your playful fervor.

Flickering lights and cold spots, 

Rocking chairs and whispers, 

Those would be welcome. 

There’s no fear in it for me. 

It’s the silence of your voice

That I find difficult. 

It’s the stillness of your smile

That holds the horror for me. 

So I ignore them when they say

My grief lasts too long

-It isn’t longer than your days-

Or that my faith is too weak

-Though I do not question this state of separation,

only the timing of our reunion-

Or my knowledge of God 

-I know Him,  because I knew you-

And I carry on with this alchemy,

This search for how

To move my claybound feet

At the speed of light;

And run, run, run

To where you are. 

June 10, 2022