DEARMAIZIE

I’m certainly not a poet, or even a writer, but this space gave me a needed outlet during an extraordinary shift in my life. Six years ago I was diagnosed with lung cancer. I think I wrote this the day I got the phone call. Funny. I remember writing it straight through with almost no edits except for punctuation and spelling. And I remember writing it alternately seeing my daughter’s face as a child and an adult, with flashes of my grandchildren’s faces. I don’t like much of anything I write, but I do this.

And I’m still here.

in spring
in an open field
barefoot in the diamond dew of morning
we walk, our fingers locked
your little hand, mine bigger

silently, suddenly (what joan didion calls ‘the ordinary instant’)
a narrow stream of water appears between us
you on one side now
me on the other
bread and butter
our fingers locked
and warmed by the sun

we stop and laugh at the water
coming up now around our wiggly toes
and then we keep walking
you on one side, me on the other
bread and butter

the water deepens
the stream widens
pushing us apart so that
our fingers no longer touch
what should we do?
you say jump over to my side!

but somehow I know I cannot
still reaching out for your little hand
I say you go on
I’ll catch up when I can
and I’ll watch you
even when you can’t see me

I promise