"There is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip of light stays, like a scrap of unreadable paper left on the floor, or the one red leaf the snow releases in March." Jane Hirshfield You will always have that light in your memories of your father. donna
Oh India...tears are flowing freely with the emotion and wondering of your poem. Be well.
ReplyDeleteLovely words India, my father died a couple of years ago, my thoughts are with you.
ReplyDeleteYour words silence me to tears for you.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful words.
ReplyDeleteIndia you are touching me with your words and silence .
ReplyDeleteI know about that. xo
ReplyDeleteoh, my dear.
ReplyDeleteI know that one too! I cried on a plane going to my mother's funeral - beautiful - thank you for bringing back that memory
ReplyDeletean in memoriam to be proud of
ReplyDeletewish you and yours lots of strength and lovely memories
love
A beautiful poem. You always find the right words,
ReplyDeleteClaudia
"There is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip of light stays, like a scrap of unreadable paper left on the floor, or the one red leaf the snow releases in March." Jane Hirshfield
ReplyDeleteYou will always have that light in your memories of your father.
donna
Loss and death, a transition unknown for those left behind. And it never transitions away somehow.
ReplyDeleteMay it all pass softy for you.