"Aster's in Glass"
by Anjali Arora
September 5, 1980 - May 22,
I save my tears when they say
your body mangled in a car wreck
may not breathe tomorrow,
because you are a survivor.
Then, I let masked men take you
into the polished cathedral,
for expensive tatoos that run
from your throat all the way down.
You would savor the crooked design
conceived in a season cursed
with sleepless nights, sterile smells,
and "code blue" bells.
I watch the bed waiting,
(on the day of the Spring equinox,
when our hills are green
from winter rain) and expect
you, my miracle child,
to wake up and say, "surprise."
Each second is eternity,
every minute, brutal time,
while acid pain inside of me
is fertilized by reality
and I learn what you knew
about the brain,
that it's the hard drive
for the mind which is the software
for the soul, which is the user.
I can't see the sun through fog
that devours me. I can't sense time
because dreams feast on
phantom flashes of life
when your body sleeps.
Everything you did
is sealed like sweet and sticky sap
in the marrow of my soul.
Everything you said
is caged in my mind
as I try to make the past real
when it isn't, try to make yesterday
alive, while it is dying with your flesh.
I think about what I'll give you -
the diamond necklace your father gave
me and I was saving for you,
crystal glasses in the china closet
and the silver star ring
that was my mother's and you took
from my dresser last year, but
I feel you over me, laughing, and know
it's ridiculous to think of these things
when you aren't really dying, just
changing spaces the way salmon swim
and find the sea before returning upstream
to spawn and start the cycle of life again.
My tears grow fierce like a desert storm
the second your spirit is free. I am weak
from the poisonous plague
that steals a slice of my soul
with creation's climax.
The way we were and the way it
was with you, my blue-eyed blond,
lives as a brief breath in eternity
now that you are gone.
Today I envy ten years ago,
when life hungered for
free time and the future.
If I could only stand
in the rain and let it rinse away
the Spring of '97, I would
surrender to the miracles
of incarnated days
when there wasn't time.
I would capture every second
and I wouldn't think about tomorrow
or dust and dirty dishes. I would choke
life with my love and learn each one
of those dumb blond jokes you told me
rather than be seduced by poetry.
From your room I hear
coyotes whine under a full moon
and remember Felix, your cat,
who disappeared so that
coyotes could celebrate lunch.
I see night decorated
with empty shadows that loom
over your Budda and Nirvana.
I wonder if your last words to me,
"I love you, too," will fade
with the dress I caress. I feel
the hollow spot and close the door
to a living tomb that silently sears
---my heart forever.
Carol Anne Lindsay
CAROL ANN LINDSAY's poetry has been published in both
literary and commercial magazines. She's a "Letters" member and
President of the National League of American Pen Women (NLAPW) who has won
numerous poetry awards, including honorable mention in 1993 for her book
"SONGS FROM A SAN DIEGO MORNING." Lindsay is mother of four,
Michael, Mark, Christine, and Candice (deceased-5/22/97). She enjoys
music, poetry, walking, biking, and the beach.
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