When I Asked You to Sing at My Funeral
It's because poetry would not do,
because the fireflies were alive that night, aflame,
reminding me of the way my heart felt
when I loved you,
because song is a different version of holding,
of kissing, of listening-- because
the last time I saw you
you showed me nothing
of what you felt, and because sometimes
you must die, in one life, in order
to start another
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Author's Note
A small poem from the morning meditations. Only here. Only now. Love to all, H
Other stories by Heather Fowler
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Love this, Heather. It really moved me *
Thanks, Marcelle! This is so true, you know--the many lives we must live within our own. xoxo
because song is a different version... <- yes! love.
Thanks, Jaime! :)
I wish there were a lovelier word than lovely for this. *
The heart sings in 68 words. Nice, Heather.
GOOD.
"...because sometimes
you must die, in one life, in order
to start another"
Yes, so true. Word efficient, Heather, and poignant and spot on and goosebumps rose on my flesh. Wow. Fave.
Thanks so much, Beate! Thanks, Clark! Sam, always a pleasure when you come. Yvette, I had the same experience writing them. Thanks for sharing that! xoxo all, H