Beneath this mound of soil
lies the other half of me,
in wait for this self
still walking the ground
trekked together before,
now dotted with only a pair of footprints.
I lay the roses upon the footstone
in a ritual of love, and pray:
please God let him who loved
you continue to love you
and you who loved him in his life
continue to love him forevermore.
I sit awhile on the grass
to let loose the well of tears that at last
comes unabated, unashamed
as, desolate, I speak to the other half of my soul,
retrieving images of the past
the highs and the lows of our together life:
the poetry we fed on that filled the soul
as our empty pouches laid concealed
in the richness of our dreams,
the hurts we unknowingly meted on each other:
what are aches and pains for that gnawed at layers
and layers of grit if they can not unearth the Phoenix in us?
shared rage against inequity,
shared agony over the cauldron of war,
shared anguish over injustice,
shared dreams and hopes for peace:
such passion and ecstasy, anger and humor
all inextricably bound in the mingling
of life's laughter and tears.
this self must go on through the motions of life
though not quite whole, not quite hale
for the other half of me is gone.
(How strong she is, people say; if only they knew...)
Tasks must be finished, whatever the heavens drop;
but there is an end to every journey, I too well know.
Little drops of rain moisten the soil on my other half;
the cold tomb looks up at the endless blue above
and the earth sucks the tears of the vaulted sky.
I beg the other half of me be patient,
wait for the dispenser to fill the tomb's empty space
and make the we of us complete again.
Summer School Break, 2004. In Memory of Wilfrido D. Nolledo, author of "But for the Lovers" and "Cadena de Amor," March 6, 2004. Distributed in plaridel_papers.
