Loss
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Woven Together
We may share joy;we most certainly sharethe warp and woofof sorrow. Our woundedness weaves us one. Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved. Continue reading
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To Change the World
To acknowledge life's sadness is not to be conquered by it.One can nod one's head to the inevitability of loss,but turn and embrace grace, compassion, hope, joy… This is the course of those who change the world–and the world yet to come. Text… Continue reading
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Shutting Down the Device
"Are you sure you want to shut down the device?" That's the question asked of meby my Sony e-Reader.And for a momentI'm not sure how to respond–it sounds so final:"…shut down the device?"It has the feeling of dissolution and death:"Are… Continue reading
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Christmas Day
At the museum,a pensive Josephgazes down at his infant son,father's soft, brown beardagainst the baby's cheek,their skin impossibly smooth and porcelain fragile. Joseph's brocaded, burgundy robeembraces them both.Thin lines of gold radiate outwardfrom behind their heads,and they are framed by a rectangle… Continue reading
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What Dolores Wrote
Somewhere in rural Nebraska,in her farmhouse kitchen,as was her custom,Dolores wrote on the square of chalkboardher axiom of the week: We don't need more of what we've got, we just need to be more grateful for it. Within two… Continue reading
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I’ve Gotta Home in Gloryland
My mother(clean and uprightin a white nightgownbleached whiter by chill florescent lights)is unable to recall my name,yet suddenly belts out"I've gotta home in Glorylandthat outshines the sun…"in a voice so clear and strong,it echoes down the green corridor,through the empty cafeteria,and… Continue reading
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A Poem Rarely Finishes
A poem rarely finishes,because we rarely finish…or only finish once. Upon my deathmy poems will gatherand say(some with sadness,some with wonder,some with relief),"Well, that's it then.No more fiddling." They will go on with their livesin whatever state I've left them.… Continue reading
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The Day My Father Died
The day my father diedthe snowman in the yard melted–one releasing warmth,the other absorbing it. Pale blue eyes slowly clouded,gazing at a bloodless blue wall;Corona-cap eyes rested on slush,gazing at a cloudless blue sky. One lay gray against a background… Continue reading
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The Dresser
The dresser(in which reside my underwear and socks)is an antique,formerly owned by my sister(now deceased). Sometimes at night,with only a candle burning,I wish with all my heartto see her in the flecked, speckled mirror,to observe her pulling back her hair,putting… Continue reading