Monday, November 9, 2009

Where He Is At

Day of the Dead

He cries sometimes at his fate
other times he resurrects himself
spins around like a five year old
jubilation at awareness of life
still intact, gets angry like a five
year old over mysterious issues

We go in the car, I worry, watch
while he drives, yesterday he said
I promise, when I can't drive I will
give it up willingly, no fight, I said
okay, he says, while I can be in
charge of me, us, let me be, okay

but, today he said, you have to be
my strength, you have to take charge
not something you've ever been wont
to do, and I know, all of it, what I must
do, what I've never done, and I don't
begin to know how, need resources

I have to know when, not too soon
not too late, I have to make decisions
today, for our future, what can we
manage, for how long, what next
when, do I need to put us in the place
now, that we need to be in eventually

it all crashes in on me, like the ocean
all foamy white above my head, what
when, as he dances on the sand, happy
frightened, sad, weary, wary, and then
we pick up again, move along, skip
smile, laugh, join hands, jump waves

ocean aquamarine crests
waves wash our prints away

Diane Belleville


  1. Such a true poem, Belle. Reality is. I am sad about the reality but the poem is beautiful........

  2. The poem is beautiful - as is the way we humans manage to find some joy, some laughter, even in distressing situations. This poem teaches us a lot. I so admire you both.