My friend, Alizah Brozgold, lost her beloved husband last Fall. She has been writing beautiful poems, some of which she has permitted me to share.
To Sleep in a Widow’s Bed
Is to find your legs a hypotenuse
of grief,
is to sink
under a collapsed
parachute of tangled sheets,
to breathe in
memory half-lives
rose scented
and vinegar,
to wander corridors
of half-lit sun/moons,
to roll over onto
shards and ash
while searching for heartbeats,
to translate
the trembling of falling
leaves
into your footsteps.
~ Alizah Z. Brozgold
Cooper’s Hawk
While your ashes sleep in the top
drawer of the faded green dresser,
a Cooper’s Hawk made our window box
his grave,
his rounded tail feathers like celluloid filmstrips
of a wild city bird
face down
where your morning glory
used to grow;
how far he flew
cause of death
we’ll never know
only that
I hover tenderly
over his bed
and watch the subtle
ruffling of his feathers
in the wind,
and I guess
soon
we’ll bury this bird
in the spirit
of spirit animals
of wild
city birds
like you
who flew
so far
from home.
~ Alizah Z. Brozgold
To Sleep in a Widow’s Bed
Is to find your legs a hypotenuse
of grief,
is to sink
under a collapsed
parachute of tangled sheets,
to breathe in
memory half-lives
rose scented
and vinegar,
to wander corridors
of half-lit sun/moons,
to roll over onto
shards and ash
while searching for heartbeats,
to translate
the trembling of falling
leaves
into your footsteps.
~ Alizah Z. Brozgold
Cooper’s Hawk
While your ashes sleep in the top
drawer of the faded green dresser,
a Cooper’s Hawk made our window box
his grave,
his rounded tail feathers like celluloid filmstrips
of a wild city bird
face down
where your morning glory
used to grow;
how far he flew
cause of death
we’ll never know
only that
I hover tenderly
over his bed
and watch the subtle
ruffling of his feathers
in the wind,
and I guess
soon
we’ll bury this bird
in the spirit
of spirit animals
of wild
city birds
like you
who flew
so far
from home.
~ Alizah Z. Brozgold
Imagine Sisyphus is Happy
Imagine Sisyphus
is happy
or at least
getting stronger
by the boulder’s reach
imagine the boulder
is the rock
of my grief
imagine after six months
slowly moving
toward the middle of the bed
a new geometry
remember a dream
in which I had to recite
all your passwords
in order to see your face
one more time.
-Alizah Z. Brozgold
Imagine Sisyphus
is happy
or at least
getting stronger
by the boulder’s reach
imagine the boulder
is the rock
of my grief
imagine after six months
slowly moving
toward the middle of the bed
a new geometry
remember a dream
in which I had to recite
all your passwords
in order to see your face
one more time.
-Alizah Z. Brozgold
The Quarry
Each day I go down to the quarry
with my quarry axe and my pick
as the wind leads the way
with its mournful whine;
there I search
for wonder stone
while golden flecks
spark gray ash
alive
and silvers words
bloom in lava rock.
Deep in this sorrow mine
I count on the tiniest stones
to hold our memories
and rocks both jagged
and smooth,
passionflowers
too will bloom
in lava rock
and our love
a gaudy bird
of paradise
and even lava fields
have coral flowers
along with Bitterroot.
Won’t we all take our places
there one day
in the crevices of a lava flow,
guarded by
volcano swiftlets
with their screams
and clicks
over embers
glowing
memory.
~ Alizah Z. Brozgold
Each day I go down to the quarry
with my quarry axe and my pick
as the wind leads the way
with its mournful whine;
there I search
for wonder stone
while golden flecks
spark gray ash
alive
and silvers words
bloom in lava rock.
Deep in this sorrow mine
I count on the tiniest stones
to hold our memories
and rocks both jagged
and smooth,
passionflowers
too will bloom
in lava rock
and our love
a gaudy bird
of paradise
and even lava fields
have coral flowers
along with Bitterroot.
Won’t we all take our places
there one day
in the crevices of a lava flow,
guarded by
volcano swiftlets
with their screams
and clicks
over embers
glowing
memory.
~ Alizah Z. Brozgold