Coming of Age

I. For the first time in a long while, I went to my jewelry box, a place Of cameos and my mother’s earrings, And took out my necklace of delicate gold And settled it on my collarbone The cross weighed oddly on my neck, Heavy with hope. That ceremonial piece soon became burnished with Fervent fingers and tearful, breathless prayers From a strangled throat II. “Why him? Why now!” my mother Beseeched of that antiseptic hospital couch, Her face half buried in vinyl cushions her Knees discolored from the floors grime All the walls are broken now Your parents are not invincible and Sometimes kingdoms crumble before their time An aneurysm was his only crime. A little girl’s tears scorch my face and Uncontrollable grief & hiccupping cries Make my skin blotchy and my nose run Death is not a beautiful thing. Permanent; yes. Eternal; yes. But not every forever is a happy ending. III. Now, an oppressive silence, a sea of black I tremble, and choke out stale words that Attempt to capture sunlight on water; that elusive, vibrant scene With a muddy stick How can I hope to summarize the comfort in his hugs, the warmth of his smile or the way He used to cry at beautiful films? I pray my love is accepted, for there are no words to say Only to speak. IV. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust: That’s all that remains of my daddy now. And yet, it isn’t- I have to believe we are more than flesh and bone I have to believe we’ll one day return home.