FOR GRACE IN THE HOSPITAL

for Grace Darling Griffin, 1922-1998

 

 

 

The pink parasols
of the weeping cherry
remind me to give thanks
for another spring—
so unearned,
pure gift
we were never promised,
always given.

 

You, my friend,
caught between
letting go
and not letting go—
your body a shipwreck,
your soul a sail
hungering
for its big wind—
what shall I tell you?

 

. . .

 

That I need you here?
Selfish!
That you mothered
me and my words
with your abundance,
your Ceres-given gift
to make the earth blossom,
your amazing grace?

 

Grace, Grace, Grace,
what you have given me
can be passed on only
like mother’s milk.
It is not intended
to be kept.

 

Weeping cherry
whipped by the wind,
I hold you flowering
in my heart.

 

Please stay.