In Memory of . . .

A young father…
so gone.

A young mother…
so unyielding in her withholding.

A young child…
so bewildered
so lonely
so lost.

Then in time
and more time…

She found her loves
at his feet
she saw her father
on his knees
in her heart
in her mind
and in her twisted deliverance of the babe that was lost.

Innocent…
so broken,
so tragic,
so nothing but echoes
of silent screams
never delivered
against blue and yellow paleness
and still
so misunderstood
she is alone.

In memory of my father who died in a car accident in 1963, and in memory of my infant son who I found dead in his crib early Easter Sunday morning in 1987.

Requiem for a Grandmother

Mother
I saw them yesterday . . .
papery hands
at euchre tables
laying down hearts
and memories of another time
when bleeding was a different colour
and young women howled fiercely at the moon
with newborn babes clutched tightly at their breasts.
 
I saw them yesterday . . .
in silvery disguises
covering their hearts
with diamonds
and thin-lipped smiles
half-heartedly masking
the haunting of loneliness
and lost children.
 
Where is the place where grandmothers go to weep?
 
I am awake in the dark
lost in raw knowing
that these scars were carved
fresh and deep
to remind me that
I am still . . .
 
A mother.

by Michelle LaRiviere

September 24th, 2014
Windsor, Ontario