{Pressing In}


my fingertips brushed your leaves yesterday

lightly touched your fading blossoms

pressed against the bark

blooms almost gone

tiny delicate pink

softness and color like a baby’s skin

only leaves on your sister’s tree

lush green, vibrant, alive

yet gone way too soon

i picked a dandelion nearby

blew its seeds into the wind

i am part of this earth, this place

you are too

my eyes may not see your blooms again

your beauty will be expressed for new eyes

maybe the next blooming will go unseen

maybe i will come back to take them in

drive the hours just for you

maybe strangers will see me peeking

this can’t be the last time i see them

i argue with my feelings

condemn them

trees, they are only trees

my girls are elsewhere

but the trees know

they carry the grief with me

they deliver secret messages

butterflies visit

they whisper your words

they smell of you

they are beauty as you are

your resting place down the road

your bones as ashes underground

but i know it’s not really you

but i feel as if i am leaving you

to not be a few miles away is desertion

is it not?

i don’t go there often yet it is always near

the nearness will soon be gone from me

how can i bear this?

the last pieces of you too far away

all of me will not go, cannot go

pieces will be left here

how can i bear it…

i’m pressing into the grief

leaning into it

i must

i cannot disregard it

it is what it is.

this was my good friday,

death was loud again.

is resurrection really coming?



the easter of our hearts.

of our souls.

can it be true?

it has to be.

i am undone.

{Hope Wood © 2014}