FOR MY LOST DAUGHTER
I would write a poem about dust,
The dry clay summer dust
That runs through your fingers like silk,
But adheres to the touch-
A clap of hands sends a cloud
Swirling in sunlight
And settling to mute
The color of grass and weeds and brittle leaves
I would write a poem about dust
Because the scar on my heart remains
And aches each day when I think of you.
Memories dissolve down before the glare,
Leaving empty air as still as death,
And words once said
Are as silent as sand.
For a young girl
Dust and sand become
A way to create,
A mound becomes a cake- rocks and twigs, the candles,
A smooth spot, a place to draw.
All can be managed here,
And sand can be easily carried away,
In the bottom of the pockets,
Or in the shoes removed for emptying.
I would pray she dreams always
Of warm sand and shovels and pails.