To Pick a Flower There are so many flowers at Rami's house
There is one less there today.
I have had to console too many parents this week
Their flowers gone away.
Roi, oh, he was 20.
Smadar, a mere 14.
"Flowers," Israelis call them
Seeded, nurtured, watered, tended,
Picked too soon in their full bloom's array.
What is it to lose a child?
I cannot fathom the depths of grief and anguish
I have only my tears and that shaky knowledge
that there but for the sake... of
of what? Go I, and my garden in full bloom.
There are no words
only a very deep heaviness clouds my heart.
I am part of this turmoil and insanity
of loss, and the theatre of the absurd
where parents bury their children.
I am frightened
because I cannot change the ending.
This is like a horror movie
that I am forced to watch I cannot even close my eyes.
I instead hug that dear parent with all the strength
I have in my disbelieving body.
Neither one of us wants to let go
Can I hold you forever
Will that keep the pain at bay
No, I must let go
and return to the surreal reality
life somehow does go on
with less color in the garden
less fragrance the soft petals of youth