In quiet moments, it is still very sad. Like when contemplating what to write on this post or when writing some lines of poetry at Starbucks. I wonder what the young, chatty girls with their pumpkin lattes think when their glances fall on a middle-aged woman, sitting alone, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
Over the last couple of days, I worked on a short poem about this particular picture, taken by Gillian at their brother's college graduation in 2007, less than two years from his death.
His Eyes
by Sue Anderson
His eyes twinkle in two-dimensional form,
with a merry thought or private joke
or just plain teenage silliness.
Pictures capture a person's soul,
said my friend
after my son died.
Which explains the photos
all over my house.
1 comment:
the first line touched me so much i could barely see to keep reading your poem. it is beautiful. thank you so much for keeping this blog. it helps me keep in touch with him each and every time i visit it, and i learn more about his life and how he lived. i think about him every day. you are not alone and you are loved deeply. thank you. Sienna
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