Steps

Buried my son a few weeks ago, after he had been missing in the Alps for over three years.Here an attempt to write a few lines again

stressed blackwood

the skinned wings

of open bark

black lines of trees

crowd my steps

away the tired fields

the dark crunch of gravel

could be steps behind

far away the lights of streets

cut the sky in half

Reviews

[Ruth]

Firstly, I am so sorry for your loss Leslie...the poem of course, heartbreaking and powerfully delivered, absolutely wrenching...thoughts are with you.

[Einstein Noodle]

oh my .. Leslie .. i don't know what to say :( even without your comment "Steps" moves forward through pain .. "skinned wings" "open bark" "cut the sky in half" .. so emotive and crushing .. i am so sorry for your loss and grateful your son has now been found .. i can't imagine what that journey has been ...
E.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

feeling half the world is gone when losing a child...and it is such grief to go through what you have, Leslie, since you have in a sense lost him twice...goodbyes to loved ones are arrows through the heart.
This poem is beautiful...Your writing is always so strong.
Emily is right...reading you is always a gift.
so sorry for your loss, dear poet.

[John the Baptist]

The pain of grief hangs heavily over this one. The symbols of death are apparent in all of the dark Images. The only light is from streets far away, and they cut the sky in half, symbolizing both a life cut short and the loss felt by those who were close. My condolences at this grim time in your life.

[Emily B]

Sir, your words are always a gift. So very sorry for your grief and loss.

[barleygirl]

WOW! This whole posting blows my mind. I read lots of mountaineering books, so of course, I wonder if this is how your son was lost in the Alps. For all my reading, I'm always stuck on how it would be to wonder for years what happened to a loved one & your poem expresses this with all the intensity & brokenness & pain we imagine such an event might bring on. I'm so sorry this happened & yet your poem is the poster child for turning sorrow into fine art (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie