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|  SOME DAY I MIGHT WRITE

 
  This letter is just to say
we have some sad news.
Of course, you've known
for some time that our boy
was terminally ill,
the muscles in his body
wasting away, too weak
to pull breath through the lungs.
He died last week.

We're still reeling. The grief
is so deep it touches on silence.
Details are too painful.
I thought about calling
but was afraid I would become
paralysed by the burden
of voice, and so I write.

And quickly too, before I solidify
into tears again, nailed
to whatever position I'm in.
It does not ease my feeling of loss
to say his fire has been transferred
to a new baby body elsewhere,
passed through many doors.
God, I love him and miss him.
I stare at walls. My wife and I cannot
let go of each other. It's as though
we are trying to find the other halves
of our bodies that have been torn away.

Please accept our apologies.
You have to understand
that we were not able
to get to everyone in time.
We're sorry you were overlooked.
Have to go now.


from The Wind is a Tall Man Striding
watershedBooks
2000
Copyright © Jim Slominski