Written a few years ago for a friend whose boyfriend was suddenly killed in a bike week motorcycle accident. I too was struggling through a recent sudden loss, making the moment even that more poignant… I thought I had lost the poem, but found (some of) it in a file drawer the other day.
life after their death, my friend
Sitting here by Kimberly’s grave
thoughts turn to you and Tony
life too short for both of them
our grief the testimony.
Who lives or not whose choice it be
or just the dice who say?
does God play poker, or is he the Joker
is it black and white, or grey?
And who am I that thinks of you
does a mirror speak the truth?
etching names in granite destroy the planet
isn’t uphill downhill too?
Does our narrow vibration on this playing field
prove that we “exist for real”, or only “sense” we do?
manifesting our love not by, “they’re dead and gone”
but “they live in our hearts and will see us through?”
And don’t we create our own version of real
realizing ourselves… in all our think, our say, and do?
Yes, we’re exactly who we think we are
and there’s part of Kimberly always alive in me…
and I think… always some Tony… in you.