FOR ISAIAH
He died suddenly
after school one day.
A fifth grader
with an undiagnosed heart defect.
Every holiday
his family decorates the tree
planted in front of the school
in his memory.
In between holidays now,
the maple blooms.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015
Carol, at Carol's Corner, will join me again this year as often as possible.
Kimberley, at iWrite in Maine, is joining me this month.
Kay, at A Journey Through the Pages, is joining, too!
"Wanted"
Steve, at inside the dog, is sharing his poems
in the comments at Poetrepository.
Heidi, at my juicy little universe, will join us when she can.
Linda, at TeacherDance, will join as often as she can.
Check the comments at A Year of Reading or Poetrepository for her poems.
Kevin (Kevin's Meandering Mind) is back this year,
leaving poetry trax in the comments.
Jone, at DeoWriter, is doing a "double L" challenge.
She and I are cross-poLLinating our challenges whenever possible.
I love when people plant trees and flowers for loved ones. It reminds me of the cycle we live. I think blossoms are the most beautiful decoration.
ReplyDeleteThose blooms remind all of us that love goes on. Your poem is a beautiful tribute as well.
ReplyDeleteMy poem today is Wanted:
Such a beautiful tradition, and your words reflect that beauty.
ReplyDeleteI love that you drew the parallel between the maple's blooms and the family's decorations. And that the blooms make you think again of Isaiah.
ReplyDeleteA lovely tribute for an untimely death. So sad, yet the blossoms are hopeful.
ReplyDeleteLovely tribute.
ReplyDeleteI am sure you are planning on sending this beautiful poem to Isaiah's family and maybe hanging it on the tree.
ReplyDeleteLanguages of Love"
That hearts and candy
and flowers love.
I don't know
how to speak that language.
But the buying groceries
and cooking dinner
and helping with algebra homework
and washing uniforms
and sitting in the bleachers
and making pizza runs
for the football team
I know how to do that kind of love.
And the staying up really late
making a tres leche cake
for the social studies potluck
or spending the whole weekend
helping build a museum room diorama
of a twentieth century
African American poet.
I know how to do that kind of love.
The not having dinner with friends
because everyone on the basketball team
is getting brand new matching shoes
and I hadn't planned on that expense
or the working extra jobs
to pay for an apartment,
and groceries and public service bills
I know how to do that kind of love.
The sitting at parent teacher conferences
or suspension hearings
hearing about your inadequacies
and the heart stopping panic
as you lay unmoving on the football field
I know how to do that kind of love.
The telling you that you can't come home
until you straighten up
and get your act together
and be the men
that I know you are capable of being.
That's another language
I don't know how to speak.
(c) Carol Wilcox, 2015
Thank you for this beautiful bit of poetry healing, Mary Lee.
ReplyDelete