The Heaviness of Meaning

Susan E. Erikson (1956–)

I did not know
the magnitude of meaning
I had stapled,
Glued,
Or stitched
to all the pieces of
my mother’s life,
Until I had to be the judge,
Erasing and dismissing stuff
as if existence had no weight,
While saving other bits of memories –
Their letters: Save,
Their old receipts from 1952: In a waiting box to shred,
Her necklaces and pretty pins: Divide between those left behind.
And on it went,
From morning light
to when I put my soul to bed,
With me disposing of a life
of artifacts
with grim dispatch
and concentration,
Hating every minute,
Knowing I was doing
what was right,
Knowing I was letting go
at lightning speed,
This we save.
This we don’t.
This we put into a bin
for someone later to unpack.

It’s been at least eight weeks,
Since I relinquished
all my powers to decree
the boundaries of her domicile.
And sometime yesterday,
The grand enormity
of who I fiercely had become,
Came crashing in,
And made me cry,
And mourn what could not ever be regained.
But in that storm,
I was sustained.
This necessary dragon also knew
I did just what I had to do.

The Silence of Death

Gregory E. Reynolds (1949–)

Death is a great silence—
All your talking ceased one day.
And now, for me, you exist
Only in my mind, my memory
Of your last and all your words.

When God created Adam’s tongue
‘Twas meant to name the world.
And now your naming has ceased,
Your last words a benediction
On your life—finis.

I loved you so,
And yet I seem to love you more now;
For all you have been to me
Has now stopped in time—
A complete whole, the entire you, thus far.

Yes, I know there’s more,
But this is all I now know.
One day perfection will
Bring us each up from below.
Then I will know the completed you!

Norwegian Mother

Your straight frame bends with planting,
Your nose is pointed north;
The weeds set you to ranting,
Their plucking sends you forth.

Your fierce determination
From Arundel came here
To settle the new nation
And quench your family’s fear.

With every stone you settled
In the thin New Hampshire soil;
The craggy climate nettled,
You never ceased to toil.

Like fishermen from Norway
You faced the climate down;
You took the challenge every day
With an occasional deep frown.

Your straight nose I inherit
To see me through my days;
Your love I’ll never merit
Though I imitate your ways.

The tough stature of those sailors
With their Viking sense of fight
Marsh’ling strength against death’s jailor
Will see me through the night.

Yet the human will to conquer
Is not fit to cross the bar;
As you taught me to aver
And trust another from afar.

There must be another Champion
Who has merited the way
To a Garden like you planted
So we’ll see another Day.

Ordained Servant Online, January, 2025.