Grief
During and after my mother’s death
I left plenty of space for grieving
or so I thought.
It seems to need so much
perhaps, after all, I will need a new life.
All this brokenness and sitting still.
The cherry has been pink since December.
It blooms from dry branches,
never lets go.
poem and photograph Rose Cook
by Derek Mahon
How should I not be glad to contemplate
the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window
and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?
There will be dying, there will be dying,
but there is no need to go into that.
The poems flow from the hand unbidden
and the hidden source is the watchful heart;
the sun rises in spite of everything
and the far cities are beautiful and bright.
I lie here in a riot of sunlight
watching the day break and the clouds flying.
Everything is going to be all right.
from New Collected Poems
photo Rose Cook
Rose Cook 