The clocks stopped all at once: the day moved on,
The room was silent and the hands were still
And words hung waiting in the listening air,
Lost sentences forever unfulfilled.
All in an instant everything is changed
And you are gone and cannot come again
Leaving a day prepared you will not meet,
A table set, the daylight streaming in.
And yet your face remains, regal and deep,
Gentle with life, and laughing despite pain;
The cut glass sparkles on your windowsill,
The flowers bloom and light breaks through the rain.
And here I stand in Sunday morning’s sun–
The stained glass casts a shadow colored bright,
The Scripture echoes ring inside my head.
Pardon my tears. You know you are alive.
(Written in 2000 for my great-aunt. Seems appropriate for Holy Week as I try to get back in the swing of things.)
Photo by Joran Quinten on Unsplash
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