Old Great Blue

From the bough under which the catbird mourns
I gathered a bushel of wild grapes
so that together — your Memory and I — could make sweet wine
to share with the family of swans who remember

outstretched wings, your solo flights across the pond

the kingfisher who cheered
green heron
and osprey
and chickadee
the turtles and frogs and snakes
and songsters all

remember you, old friend

We’ll drink our wine by your weathered white bones
narrate again your prehistoric startle from this cove
the seemingly impossible lift and soar
your meditative poses and postures

And I?
I will tell them of the winter we walked step-for-step by the back pond
how the world was silent and we listened to snowfall
the sharp haunted joy of us and no others

that moment last spring — the shock of morning wing song
watching as you landed on a branch crown-high, balancing on its sway
how every time I looked up,
you were still there
and still there
and still there

until you were no longer

I have pages now of poems for you
stories to tell to the gathering
and one last prayer
these fall flowers at your feet
beneath a birch that once was as well
with gratitude forever more

Amen

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Photo & poem ©2024 Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.