Editor’s note: I now have an annual ritual, having completed it three years in a row. During the week between Christmas and New Years, I meet with my former mentor, Dr. Leah Taylor, and my current neighbor, Lisa Red. We talk about the year, waxing philosophical about the ground we’ve covered. Then we talk about the next year, waxing philosophical about the ground we hope to tread. During our most recent meal, Leah shared that her brother was ailing. It seems now, however, that he is near Death’s door. When Leah feels the need to love someone very deeply, one of her ways is by writing them a poem. She’s agreed to share the two poems she has written to support her brother in his process of dying. One waxes philosophical about the ground from where he came, and one about the higher ground to where he is soon going. ~ [kelly]
To My Brother
You were a young boy
Your mother’s lap your own
Her loneliness your wound
Her universe your home
Now all the moons and stars
That know you in your story
Are thankful in their sending
For giving them their glory
You are healed, my brother
Love will sweep you into grace
As spirits come to join you
In the journey you now face
I have seen the shining sky
Without the cloud of pain
Display the wonder of your life
In winds without the rain
The sound of peace is calling
In your mother’s voice adrift
In the cadence of the many
To whom you gave your gift
Rest now, my brother,
You need not fear the night
I have slept upon your pillow
Where the dark becomes the light.
Leah S. Taylor
02/18/12
WHERE YOU BELONG
Half in this world,
half in the next,
I dreamed you were
both host and guest.
I dreamed you moved
beyond the word,
fallen deep inside,
dancing into time and space
with your spirit-guide.
I dreamed you argued with
the angels whom
you would belong.
They were telling you
that they were right;
you told them they were wrong.
If you have quarreled
with your gods,
alone and out of place,
come visit me,
exquisitely,
kiss me softly on my face.
Leah S. Taylor
02/27/12
***
End note ~ Leah is a published author and poet. She grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio and Tulsa, Oklahoma. Her family is Jewish and her father was a judge in Tulsa for many years. The stories she was part of during a very discriminatory time in our State’s history need to be told as well. I hope we can do that soon.