Day 23 and 24 of Poetry Month - April 2016

A friend's daughter died when she was only 7 years old. My daughter and her daughter had the same name. It still haunts me.

Ode to Nancy’s daughter
Your not-so-jolly
jotting creates a crash
on to futility. Your Sarah’s
dead.
    I cry.
To think I’ll never
see her smile,
hear her laugh,
watch her eat an orange
    slice by slice.
Now you’re getting back to life,
such as it is,
wishing it were more,
sometimes finding yourself
thinking about fate,
future celebrations
    not played out,
paths crossing, stopping, beginning
again and
again.
Your down-to-earth
noting prompts a jolt
of reality. I cry and
cry.
    I’d mail you a hug
If I could. These words,
they are not enough,
but let them be
an offering of remembrance,
my friend.

© Catherine Woods 1998

And now another favourite topic of mine, geography.

In the Valley of the Moon, Alberta
Wind-weathered mounds of
what used to Archaeopteryx,
gravel formed from eroded Pteranodons,
blasted by elements for millions
of eons before we arrived,
so long before we took our first steps.
Grasses bend in breezes
melded for centuries fossils of
Apatosaurus, Raptor, and Stegosaurs.
All that is left
of such stately specimens
is dust
curiously raw.

© Catherine Woods 1998