Eighth Elegy

You were sitting beside me on a couch made for two.

You were describing the death of a relative, how she

had gotten a diagnosis of cancer, and needed treatment,


but the treatment didn't work, and it was painful besides,

and she died shortly after. I shook my head gently.

"No, that's not what happened. You had cancer, Jen.


And you died." And then you smiled, silent, as if

to say, "That's true."

                                       And then I woke up,

bewildered at one in the morning, eleven weeks exactly


since the rainy Saturday of your death. Newly 

awake, the knife of your death alive again in me, 

I sobbed for an hour and keened your blessed name


to angels and saints, to God, to the bedroom ceiling.

And I was grateful. Grateful for this pang of grief. Grateful

for this sharp anamnesis, this remembrance of you,


my cherished friend whose voice was solace and strength, 

whose eyes were my refuge, whose smile was my rest.

Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2018-10-20 at 13:52

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Coo & Co The PoetBay support member heart!
Members of Coo & Co very much enjoyed this piece, Thomas :>)

We like the free flow throughout the stanzas, and we are moved by the content. The interjections of speech within the narrative are very effective too. We applaud :>)