loss

Of flowers past


Image result for summer wildflowers painting

Where light my darling coming

Through the white Queen’s lace and fetters

Of summer tendrils yellowing

I see her love of shoot and sprig

Of loosestrife even as asters

Her mouth a bow of girlish charm

Her hands everywhere trailing

So she was six summers past

And so now I briefly see her

Better cast in my adoration

Than all the sun’s rayed splendour

~

Elizabeth Cook, 2017

Image from Karen Margulis

Parallel Outlet: 7


“The low divides we dare not cross,

all that we’ve loved, all that we’ve lost…”

So begins the poem Divides by Eric M. Vogt, a piece that I return to read now and then. In short and seamless lines any manner of things loved and lost are conjured up for the reader, and although it is Valentine’s Day, loss has long been a poetic side to love.

There are surely as many beautiful poems of loss as there are of love, and the stories that compel us almost never contain love alone. Those stories contain uncertainty, regret, transience, and the irrevocable loss itself, where sadness serves as a tribute and brings us to question endings.

What is an ending? Fatigue, alienation, death?

“Love is a many splendoured thing”, and the ending of loves throughout history has been a great mover of men, cities, and countries. Divides brought all this and more to mind. And it ends with a tantalizing reference to memory, the only place where things that have ended may survive.