Death at my door D.A.M.D Part 6 A Poem – By Agatha (Poet and scholar)


Today on the D.A.M.D series, there is a bit of a twist I must say. Did you notice something different about the title today?  I omitted my usual “Musings of a grieving parent” caption. You did? Well done!!!  It is with good reason though. Today, the piece is about a grieving parent but not my muse. It is a poem sent in to me by a very special friend Agatha. I have know her for the type of short while that feels like ages. If you have ever met someone who fills your life with joy and the beauty of her intelligence, then you have a friend like the one I bagged in Agatha. She plaits words and has a distinct voice that pierces through her work. I find myself  feeling very excited every time I read from her.

Special thanks to you her for this lovely poem. I am really touched by the words and the web of emotions that I continue to experience overtime I read it. She has a fantastic blog where she shares her special romance with the webs she alone can twist with words. Please make sure that you can check it out here. Its called Black girl wanderlust.  I hope you enjoy it too. The beauty of poetry is the way its meaning transcends all intention. Enjoy!

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Now. There is a boy-sized hole in her heart

That is the twin of the child-sized pain sitting

In the pit of her belly.

In the pit of her belly

Where he first resided before he was

Where his sinews were joined with bone

And flesh was wrapped around his awesomeness.

Now it is an empty room

Where the fire of his smile has gone out

And the ghosts of his memories flit around in the shadow.

II

That slight quaver you hear in her voice –

No, that is not the sound of shattering glass

Nor the hint of quiet desperation as it seeps

Through a tightly woven mask of placid acceptance

This – this here is the sound of a willow; supple

Swaying gently in buffeting winds

Safe in the knowledge that though this river swelled,

Swelled and burst its banks

Though its raging waters lap at her roots like tongues of fire

She will not be swept away.

They hold firm, her roots;

Buried deep in a nest of love

 

Thank you for reading.

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Photo Credit: Pixabay.