I found this [profound, genius; sorry I can't avoid adjectives under the circumstances even though I know good writing need not lean on them] three line poem when I was in high school, before it could really mean anything to me, before I had lost or gained much of anything. I loved this poem then as a series of words that amounted to beauty. Now I love it as the brutal, plain truth. I came across one of the "prayer cards" from Eva's service, on which we'd printed this poem. I hate how those cards turned out. They are so plain, so artless. She deserved better and so did Merwin. But of course, nothing is enough of anything when it comes to her. And she is everything when it comes to me.
Separation
by W. S. Merwin
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
This started as an online journal in early 2006. At the time, it was a carefree spot for silly diatribes and the occasional photo. Since then, I got pregnant with mono.amniotic mono.chorionic twins, learned one of our daughters had a heart defect, spent 11 weeks in a hospital room and 29 more days with Eva in the NICU and PICU before losing her. We have two children who are alive and thriving and one who didn't make it. For me, this has become that place in between.
I'm so sorry for your loss...I feel like an idiot everytime I say these words. I know the word "loss" never sums it up.
ReplyDeleteThose three lines say exactly how I am feeling right now.
I love this poem. Hate that the words are so true. But isn't that some definition of what art should really be - something painfully true to you? Something brutally beautiful? This is brutally beautiful:
ReplyDeleteShe is everything when it comes to me.