The Rose Garden

Apologies – On tour in Western Canada. My right hand and arm have been in reserve for playing music and NOT for typing! Re-activated an old injury, and tonight is the first night I can type a little. Need to rest my arm enough so that i can play out the rest of this month.

But i had to write something. My best friend’s father passed unexpectedly, traumatically, and suddenly - just a few days ago. It has reopened my own wounds surrounding my father's death, and my heart just wants to wrap itself around hers and protect her from having to feel this. But, this is part of each of our experiences, and I had to write something to honour this event.

I've entitled this poem - "Library" - in reference to something that was said at the memorial by the Reverend. He noted how our lives had 2 bookends around it - birth and death, and I realized that none of us know how many books are in the middle, none of us reveal all the books we've collected, and when we pass, no one alone can read all the books. So, yes, a new metaphor for life now exists in my metaphoric mindspace. I dedicate this to all of us that have lost a loved one in traumatic and unexpected circumstances.
- R

(Sidenote: When trying to help a friend out by taking them to a movie after dealing with a death in the family, please don’t take them to District 9 like I did tonight. Had to turn on my Tarantino switch for that one. Good movie, but just really BAD timing on my part. I owe her at least a week of romantic comedies now. )
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Her Library

Lined up against the wall
Flags of warriors
You were one

Book ends of life
you collected your library
They read what they can now

There will always be secrets
Tall brick walls
Mahogany shelves filled with
cigar smoke
and mirrors,
Larger than life

Books in shadow
Observed in respect
You were human
In retrospect

Speak to me with strength
and lessons learned
Ready to guide her
you have crossed over
and now,

Pages disintegrate,
Vines flourish,
the last sunset reaches the last branch
Reaching for the last book to hide

You have saved one for her, though
It holds a father’s love
And cannot be rewritten

She has just begun to read it
she will not let it leave
the most precious of spaces

A new book lives
forever more
in her library.