My friend, Alizah Brozgold, lost her beloved husband...
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
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
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...
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
  The Quarry      Each day I go down to the quarry...
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
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,
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
~ Alizah Z. Brozgold

Susan Rosenberg Jones

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