Sunday, January 7, 2018


         Sometimes it's the last time you
ever see them. Life is a series of moments.
We don't know when the last moment
         And your father is gone, to the echoes
of the snow geese heading home.
         Or waving goodbye to a lover in Naples
Bay. I was on a ship. She was on the wharf
wearing my tweed jacket. We both were the ship sounded it's horn and withdrew.
        Or Krista now at the bus stop, twenty degrees below zero, pacing back and forth.
        Or dad, looking frail, leaving at the Davisville subway stop. How I wanted to take care of him!
        How I want to take care of all of them... but moments pass, again and again, and they are gone.
         Strong, weak, beautiful, frail - it makes no difference. They go.
         And my mother now 93 years old  in the City of Toronto.
          Who can stop it?  What can we do about
all these leavings?

          "The smallest leaf of grass proves there is really no death."*
          Is this enough?
          It helps, but it is not enough.

            Is the Bible enough? Not the old version... but the newly discovered most ancient
Gospels... perhaps...
             Perhaps they will do.

*Walt Whitman

(C)2017 by William G. Milne

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