Here’s my latest entry into the dVerse Open Link – why not take a look at everyone else’s responses?
This piece is in honour of everyone who is striving for balance in their creative and ‘other’ lives. This year for me has been… horrible, and so my creativity has helped me manage all the incessant thoughts racing around in my head. Next year, let it be better…
– On the Edge –
I watched you breathe your last
In that hospital room
With its hospital smells
And the pneumatic mattress
Which continued to sigh
Long after you –
I know that nurses continued to laugh
In the long hallway
With the squeaking floor
But silence settled
In those empty moments
Right after you –
I write about you, over and over
In this year of my life
With my heart, broken wide
Creativity rescue me
Help me live,
Now that you are –
20 thoughts on “On the Edge – dVerse Open Link Week 114”
Lovely Freya. You express the sorrow of your loss so well……my heart goes out to you.
Thank you. Things are different than they were. Not sure if ‘better’ is the right word – but definitely different.
This moving and so observant of the minutiae of such a scene which brings the whole thing to life. A horrible experience powerfully brought to life. My sympathies are with you naturally
Thank you. I am just so glad that I can use writing as a catharsis. Although if I didn’t think so much, perhaps I wouldn’t need to – who knows….
so hard facing that loss…i like how you show others like the nurses that dont understand what is happening in that room and in your life…but we all are touched by it…been there…emotional piece….
It was a bizarre juxtaposition – but then when they understood, they came to offer their condolences, and I know that some were upset too. They were excellent carers.
sympathies for the loss you express so poignantly
Heartbreaking – and that laughter in corridors so at odds with your grief…
The use of a single word on a line to end each stanza was especially effective – you chose those strong words that punctuate the theme of the poem.
Thank you, Marina.
To live in that bubble of sorrow.. it must feel like the world moves on without you or another dimension.. how great to have that creativity as a tool to break out and survive.. wonderful write.
It was definitely a bubble – very well put. Yes, creativity is an amazing support for me right now. Thank you, Bjorn.
Thank you for coming by my place today. Perhaps our poems are fitting pieces. I lost my husband some time ago. It never seems much farther in time away. I have a certain peace, it’s true, but never stop feeling the loss, trying to articulate it, trying to define it. Writing is good, secret places are good, memories are good up to a point but shouldn’t be lost to. The future is: accepting all invitations (the best advice I had), making a new path, utilizing your new view to interact and share with others, having people to call anytime on hand, knowing your friends, travel (this was a huge boost for me – I went to the UK for seven weeks on the first anniversary – saw it all), and re-setting your goals and aspirations. Life is precious and short AND must be lived not wasted.
Thank you, Gay. You write wise words indeed, from the depths of experience. Indeed, the future should not be wasted, opportunities should not be lost, friends should be treasured. I have found solace and comfort in the most unlikely of places. Life is indeed the most valuable of things, an intangible commodity to be experienced to the full. Writing is a way for me to do that. Thank you, so much.
I am sorry for your loss, Freya. This poem is intense, especially the second stanza. It is quite painful to picture the laughing nurses, on the one hand, and the quiet sorrow that you felt.
Thank you. It felt almost impossible that happiness and such sadness for us could co-exist in such physically close proximity. But there it was, one of life’s unpredictable situations.
A very poignant poem. I liked the contrast between the hospital bedroom and the world outside.
Thank you, Gabriella.
one writes and rewrites, lives and relives… and eventually there’s healing – but it’s becoming more and more clear to me that those we think gone are not far away, living as they do in our hearts
beautiful, sensitive poem
Thank you, Ruth. I agree – their physical form is gone, achingly so, but their spirit remains, and I think becomes even stronger over time.