Member Poem

Summer Days...

Breeze blowing up funeral dresses.

Sun beating on death and it smelled like lilac, honey or milk.

Noticeable sad faces as we all stood inline

Stood out awful bad, the sadness that is.

You could see the sweat glisten on their brow.

Tears just dance across high cheekbones.

And it smelled like lilac and milk and yes honey so sweet much like she was.

And to think I used to think passing on would smell something terrible.

Especially on a day like this.

I thought it would be something like despair or darkness.

But it was nothing of the sort.

Passing on smelled like fresh line-dried linens cold and fresh.

Mama (Granny) used to bathe me in warm milk and caress with me alone.

The smell took me to days when I did not want to part from nature.

I looked at her and saw exactly what true peace was and in awe.

My amazement was the only way I could keep from crying at the moment.

Anything to take my mind off something so life-changing.

The fact that I still thought death could remind me of how nice moments can be.

But that itching little sound of sadness slowly begins to take over me.

That reason that ends up in my heart on up to my head.

Telling me I ought to show some remorse and respect.

So I let the tears fall to my cheeks and chest no shame to how it looked or felt.

‘Stead of pattering my feet
Nodding my head
And staring at folks
Nonetheless, I loved her.

They think I ain’t love her like they did because I was often away.

I show my love a lil’ different, send her my love in my own special way’.

What’s hurting got to do with love is the question I will forever ask?

Just like I enjoyed her company and she enjoyed mines, memories like those stand the test of time.

That’s just how I see it.

To really feel death.

Such a hard word, the true meaning to the end.

For something so hard to even comprehend.

And, so hard to do.

However, it is not hard for God to take you.

It smells like lilac, milk, and honey
Pastures and fields.

Fields and pastures of fresh bellowing and blowing flowers.

The way elders explain it, It is supposed to be a celebration.

As they say, the lord is removing you from the sinful world into everlasting love.

So even as we are all steady crying, deep inside we are celebrating.

Patting my feet to the beat of singing &  drumming on the church floor.

Nodding my head to the songs all mourning ladies sing.

In the summer sun, it's your death
I do mourn but I also have to learn to celebrate that this life allowed you for me.