For many years my good friends have given a Memorial Party at their lovely home –the group varies somewhat but generally has the same cast of characters. After the party I usually send them a poem as thank you note, but I chose not to last year.
death held all our hands -softly without malice
Our voices combined to speak of life beneath the chatter of our talking
I could hear a determined mummer, a hum perhaps a hymn perhaps a tender promise.
We were a worn and battered group/friends
Some were missing and some will not return
We gathered in the memory of
our vibrant middle age
no longer ours
We are old
We pretend for the afternoon to be joyful
Masking our fragilities
The shadow of our mortality
Providing a cloud on a sunny afternoon
We are hiding from the reality
of our worn bodies /lined faces
Our life force draining from us
Certain/ inescapable
Quarrels, passions, ambition, anger, love…voided
More will be absent next year and next year and next year
Empting
Finishing
Someone’s fond memory
Vacant Chairs