November fourth won’t have the power
of the past. I’ll sleep through
the night, won’t wake up in
the fetal position head pounding
in the rhythm of despair and dread.
What will save me from this acid torch
in my gut every November fourth? What
will make the day just slip by without
grief or remembrance of a son that
brought me pure joy.
How long does loss hang on and haunt
those left behind? How long before
his precious face, that comes to me
in my dreams, bring me delight in
remembrance rather than the ache
and emptyness of his absence.
This year was the life is good
this is a perfect day ruse.The
air is cool, the sun is shining
and I planned an evening with
friends day.The I won’t think
won’t acknowledge any pain day.
This isn’t the year I hit on the right
combination, the right ploy to make
this just another day of cool weather
and blue skies.Maybe next year
will be the year I find my way.
November 4, 2009