She tripped on steep cement stairs,
but her father snatched her
before she hit ground; still
she sobbed with the fright
of it; mother ran, face bears
fear as well, knowing how quickly
death snatches those we love, spills
life like a profligate until bright
dims to dark and we're left there
bereft where love once was, and it thickly
weaves webs to entrap when a moment ago
life danced patterns to fill our nights
with stories, embed memories that dare
to endure, be told as family lore that will
define us, but surely not as having lost this child, though
another babe left long ago, and us marked by her leaving;
she, etched in heart and mind as we transfer
pain to medicine, to somehow move when death stills
that opened place meant for this dear one, slight
light slants through the lattice of loss by her leaving.
This is posted in response by Gay Reiser Cannon over at dVerse Poets Pub who introduced us to David James who has devised Karousels and Weaves to challenge and expand our poetic options. This is a Karousel. Check it out, it's a great article that can take you in new directions. It certainly did me.
