Losing

Losing, lost 

I didn’t misplace him.

In fact I placed him

Or the dust of him

in the earth.

 

Passed away

 I didn’t pass

 on a highway.

 He is not out of sight

 or my sight.

  But present in my sight

   in a handwritten note

   a flower planted

   a bath robe hanging

    on a door.

 

Deceased

 Ceased to be.

 But “be” he is

 in mind and memory.

Lost but present.

Passed but present.

Ceased but present.

 

Death cannot be dressed up

or pinned down.

And that is that.

*****

Poem by,

Patricia Woolever

pwoolever@susumc.org