“Instant Communications” | Prose Poem
A hard winter, this, snow on ice on snow, roads and sidewalks turned to skaters’ rinks. No walls with bumpers. No ramps off. Nothing left to hold on to.
People we grew up with, dead. Names. The names. The promises of new books. New music. New beauty. New hope. Dashed, all. Those who live, betrayed, somehow, by those who live no longer.
I feel it more, now. This world has gotten smaller. Now I think I know them, the dearest ones who die. Because I know about them. Even if we have exchanged but briefest emails and they have not remembered.
My grief is deeper for the loss of an old man in New York who liked my photographs and used them in his powerpoints for Sunday worship. Blue skies and clouds a background for God’s word and hymns. I sing hymns when I remember him. And cry. I knew him better than blood relatives.
Sixty-some first cousins and more, their children and their children’s children.When relatives are no more, I do not know. I do not have the right phone numbers to give them mine. Emails go to white filters. My address is not on their lists.
I could find the birthdays, names and pedigrees of my friends’ dogs. But not those of my brothers’ children’s sons and daughters. Addresses for sending cards or letters. Not even cell phone numbers to call and say, “I’m still here. Alive. Are you?” to their voicemail.
“Instant Communications”. Copyright © 2016-01-20, by Lizl Bennefeld
All rights reserved.
Inspired by Mara Eastern’s Poetry 101 Rehab poem for this week.