August 3rd, 2008


The Clothes

The clothes you wore are gone
But not the person.
You left us, but I still find you
In the dim recesses of my memories
As scenes from our shared childhood
Flash across my mind.

Why should I feel sad about the clothes you wore?
When I walked in that evening
All I saw was the clothes:
You had gone.

When what's within is gone,
The human body
Is nothing but a set of clothes:
Skin,limbs, teeth, hair...
A discarded bag of bones.
A flute without its music, a house bereft of its owner.
How does it matter how the shells are disposed of?
Empty cartons need to be thrown away.

So I'll learn to be content
With my memories....and not miss you.
I'll learn to be content
With your presence in my thoughts....

I hope that my memories,too,
Will not become faint
With the passage of time...
An aging brain
Drops the clothes of its recollections
And stands bare, or is sometimes absent.

Ultimately, the people we love
Live within us.
They do not have a past tense
In our thoughts.

Why can the heart not accept abstractions
Of death, loss, and bereavement
That the mind can?
Why do we need to hold on?
Why can we not let go?