Dirge for My Firstborn, Maria
Where are you my child?
When I peer in at the two,
sleeping warm and safe
pink, blonde and curl,
I see three:
you are shade between them.
In heartbreak autumn
when I shuffle through beech leaves
strong-veined and crisp
I hear you behind me,
silent companion of the woods.
I saw you yesterday
in the glint of the sun
off Spring Pond.
You were silver ripple
born of the wind,
a racing spirit-child hurrying
across the water’s surface.
When you departed,
surely I did shuffle off my skin
and wrap you in it.
Daughter you took a layer of me with you.
My daughter, when I ache for life
within me, it is you that I crave.
Then I know razor and cut,
silver and stump.Where are you my child?
When I peer in at the two,
sleeping warm and safe
pink, blonde and curl,
I see three:
you are shade between them.
In heartbreak autumn
when I shuffle through beech leaves
strong-veined and crisp
I hear you behind me,
silent companion of the woods.
I saw you yesterday
in the glint of the sun
off Spring Pond.
You were silver ripple
born of the wind,
a racing spirit-child hurrying
across the water’s surface.
When you departed,
surely I did shuffle off my skin
and wrap you in it.
Daughter you took a layer of me with you.
My daughter, when I ache for life
within me, it is you that I crave.
Then I know razor and cut,
silver and stump.
September Sunrise for Staten Island
How many sunsets? How many nights?
Who but the grieving know the road that you’ve walked?
Honoring them — naming children after them
Tattooing initials and numbers to loyal bodies
Following in their footsteps serving others
Remembering them with each measure of kindness.
Leaving a place at the table in your dreams.
In the still of an untroubled September day,
remembrance grows deeper. They’re here
Made present in acts, in rituals, in stories.
Ever present in the live of those who loved them
and those who will —
grandchildren, nieces, and nephews.
At first light, as layers of darkness lift,
Twenty years true to promises
Their burnished legacies rise like the sun
over the harbor: first orange, the golden,
then dazzling like the love that is eternal.
Marguerite Maria Rivas 