‘Are you well?’ they ask. ‘You look tired.
Your energy seems a bit down.’
‘It’s August again,’ I don’t say,
and don’t add, ‘My “cruellest month” ’.
All those remembered deaths,
none of them old yet – and the new one.
It creeps up slowly, even though I think
I’m well prepared. I forget hollowness –
until it insinuates itself, again, inside
my bones, my veins, the cavities of my gut.
The empty spaces in me, which are me, are
microcosms of the great spaces in the world
left by your unique absences: holes that can’t
be refillled. Can’t ever. But the weeks pass
again, and I move again past your passing,
your several passings, as I did each first time.
Perhaps it is as well, my dears, you die in August
or the first edge of September, or the last day in July.
The Spring arrives again, the world looks up
and thrives, filling itself with life, that starts anew.
And my life too goes on. So far. Of course
I feel myself immortal, as we all do – as you did
(most of you). But now again it’s August.
I don’t go out much, get dressed late.
I buy myself wine and chocolates
and romantic DVDs; indulge alone.
And nothing fills the hollow, lights the dark….
‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Just busy.’ Again and again.
Written in response to Voices, Spaces & Songbirds at 'imaginary garden with real toads'.
What a strong poem this is, Rosemary. I can feel the sadness of this cruelest of months. I have to remember that August for you is winter as well, which doesn't help....due to the absence of light. Thankfully the Augusts of life do pass, and life continues on. Meanwhile, enjoy the chocolate as needed! (Smiles)
ReplyDeleteit's as it were you're writing my feelings, Rosemary...that same coldness, absences yet the flowing never stops...
ReplyDeleteSometimes it helps to talk to them, to take them along, walk on the same beach, still use the same restaurant, never let them go. You can still laugh at the fun times, still hold their hand for they can still be in your world.
ReplyDeleteYes, indeed – in other months.
DeleteOh..the emptiness. I feel the emptiness in that space, tonight. It's why I'm up reading, after laying in my daughters bed to help her get to sleep....thank you Rosemary, for sharing such an intimate, sacred space.
ReplyDeleteAhhh August - I relate to these aching words - my father left in August too ...so much love
ReplyDeleteSpring is a difficult time of year, which ever end of the globe you reside in. Here the wind is blowing in the change, while the cold still sweeps up from the Antarctic.
ReplyDeleteI wrote a poem like this about November. Yours is better. I LOVE this poem. We are whole despite the holes and the absent presences we feel even more when they cycle around like the moon and the sun.
ReplyDeleteFYI -- You might want to read this in September: http://susanspoetry.blogspot.com/2014/11/november-22nd.html
DeleteThank you. I don't agree mine is better, Your is very beautiful, and yes, the same sentiment.
DeleteThe depth of emptiness and the longing to fill this space that is not fillable...this poem aches with such compassion and beauty, Rosemary...beautiful poem.
ReplyDeleteOh this is sad and beautiful, my friend....the absences so large they are presences, the hollowness, and hard to bear when the weather underscores the loss. I am happy you reach for chocolates and dvd's....I do the same........this is so beautifully written. It drew me in.
ReplyDeleteAh sad. So human and vivid. Really well done. Thanks. K.
ReplyDeleteSadness hued by beauty. Appreciate you sharing.
ReplyDeleteThis is so poignant and beautiful. The sadness is so raw and honest.
ReplyDeleteThe coming of Spring is my dark time too, August to September, your poem gave me connection, empathy. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteRosemary, you have juxtaposed loss and renewal so effortlessly, this poem is a shinning jewel
ReplyDeletemuch love...