loss – Serendippity

“Requiescat in Pace” and 1 more

Now to the last of the prompts for murisopsis’s poetry scavenger hunt. Thank you, dear Muri, for your behind-the-scenes work. Having 13-plus prompts at my fingertips is like being treated to a buffet, and I spent a wonderful week feasting. (Write in haste; post at leisure!) Below is an Anna (in English “Rest in Peace”) followed by a Dr. Stella (in English, “Hope Conquers All”). Peace to your ♥!

Requiescat in Pace

I have not cried,
and what that signifies
is squat. The priest who judged my faith
matured when tears came once was equally
amiss. I navigate the deeps
of faith and loss and love
without a map.

Spes Vincit Omnia

He came; he saw; he conquered. Good
For Caesar. Were he touring
Today, he might go back to bed
And bow his head and pray
His gods his soul to keep. I would
Despair, but hope, enduring
In spite of gloom, subdues my dread.
Vast hope, not just a ray.

“Remembrance of Things Past” and 2 more

Murisopsis’s poetry scavenger hunt prompt #12: Write a Jay’s Way or a poem using a bird metaphor. I’m keenly aware that discontent with one’s washing machine is small in the scheme of things, although I really miss my old front-loader (today’s larger models won’t fit in the space we have), and the lint I reference is a lot, and it just makes me want to go waaaahhhh.

a trough of despond
small sorrows
I can’t see beyond

I’m missing how things were–before covid, before my parents died, before a lot of other changes that have taken place in my/our world. Peace to our ♥s!

Remembrance of Things Past

Pathetic,
to miss a washing machine:
top loader, front loader, both get the clothes clean,
but the lint on the screen is more now,
and I don’t care how
there are loads
of abodes
where women handwash
and air-dry day in, day out. By gosh,
I’m tired of adjusting! There’s been too much change,
mixed feelings to rearrange.
I’m homesick.

Green Bowl
Yellow Bowl
Red Bowl
Blue

I don’t
forget
Dad bought
the set

at my
behest
per Mom’s
request

for bowls
with lips
to catch
the drips.

Though I’m
now grown
and long
since flown

they still
provide
a sense
of pride

because
(well done!)
I was
the one

the little bird
who told him.

Mourning My Mom

All those months of hospice  
   I pictured us easing into goodbye:
Family gathered at the end, 
   taking turns holding your hand.
Then you died suddenly alone, 
   leaving us empty-handed.

This is my sijo that placed second in the adult division of the Sejong Cultural Society’s 2022 Writing Competition. (To see all the winning entries, click here.) I wrote it the week after my mom died, little knowing it would be the first poem in what has become my Afterdeath collection. Peace to our ♥s!