Over Everything
Carol Schiess
The dead do not leave us
alone.
They trouble our waters,
speak their strange words
into our sleeping ears,
urge us
to look back, stay back.
They appear, mirages, on
our horizons,
stand in the way of
forgetting,
of moving. Oh yes,
this is how it was, remember?
this is how it was, remember?
as if to say nothing can
be good again
now they are gone, as if
to say
we are lost without them.
Are we to blame? You may
say so.
Perhaps they wouldn't come
at all
if we did not call them,
bring them. It's all in the mind,
you say. But I know
they also come unbidden.
It would be different, of
course,
if they really came, in
the flesh.
That is all we
want.
* * *
And this, from my husband's missionary journal, September 20, 1961, when he had just been made Montevideo district president.
His underlining.
Our knowledge is worth no more than the good it does in
the lives of those with whom we share it.
This was his thought as he prepared to teach 6 new elders and 2 new sisters who had just arrived in Montevideo. I like it. I like him.
2 comments:
Your poem touched my heart! May I send it to my daughter? All those thoughts are her thoughts, too.
Of course. Send it.
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