Enid Sanders, Author

You Drop By

I intuit
The edge
of a memory.
A scene
from a dream.
The familiar
smell of a
phantom scent.
Then
A trace in place
of you invades
all of my senses.
And
I see, feel, and
recognize you just
passing through
the me that is now.

Leaving Therapy Behind

Out of the office,
her borrowed ego
left behind, I

venture out in the
world, an orphan
of sorts, without the

assurance of a pat
on the back, her
stake in my life

weekly.

I second guess myself,
reach internal for her
voice to mingle with

mine, carry on (of course)
knowing my childhood,
my past life, lies sleeping

safely on her office floor.

With Me

I hold your heart in the palm
of my hand.
It still beats.
No matter that I saw
you die.

The Poetry

When he died,
my vein was
split open and

poetry poured
out in gallons
of emotional

blood.

Even when I wept,
releasing my toxic
tears never healed

like the poetry.

Even when I
mourned and
talked and talked,

(and I talked and
talked), no thoughts
were as exacting

as the poetry. So,

it was the words spilled
out on the page that
got me whole again.

Here

You cradling me and
me hugging you and
you holding me and
your hand in mine and

my arm laced in yours and
a kiss on the lips and
your kiss on my forehead and
my head on your chest and

your face in my hands.

Gone

In the night,
in the quiet,
I call to you and
you come to me

in a memory,
a facsimile,
in a v***r
I breathe into me.

In a v***r
I breathe into me
that escapes when
I exhale

How You Loved Me

And you said,“I have an epiphany”.
(That’s the way you talked).
And I, drying my hair,
said “Yes?”

And you said,”I love you!”
I smiled and said, “I know.”
And, so,
I was thinking today about
how you loved me.

How you brought gifts
of things you thought
I collected; ceramic
apples, snow globes

How you watched me, pleased,
and bought me a chocolate muffin
that "followed" you home and you
would hide all treats

to dole out after dinner and
your deer-in-the-headlights look
when I said "We need to talk",
which I often said just to see that look.

And, when we first met,
how you touched me cautiously,
carefully, as if I might break.
which was ironic because,

even when we fought,
you never hurt me.
But, when you left,
you broke me wide open.

The agony in loss is the inability to forevermore tell, ask, and share; it is the indelible stamp on the mind and body called yearning.

Thinking about the start of grieving, I revisited “Vision” and included us.

The Beginning

As he lay dying, Death touched
her cheek to his in a gentle,

reassuring way. So he was not
anxious, but surrendered to

this next life event as it enfolded him.

Those of us around him
memorialized his life,

each of us hemmed in by
our own private flood of

memory, not yet registering
the finality of the loss.

His breathing labored and

then, Death gathered his
enormous heart in her arms

and hurried away.

A Child Grown

A child grown is a
blessing and a mystery.

Little girl becomes a woman,
her grandmother becomes old.

I hold her hand and ingest
both the familiar and the new.

I know the words, but it is sung
to a slightly different melody.

She is her own person, yet
I can still recognize myself;

she is both all new
as well as
my immortality.

Family Dinner

When they leave,
they are not gone.

The joyful sound of
children playing

hangs in the air.

The soft murmur of
the adults catching up

still held in my heart.

Each warm plate from
the dishwasher a memory

of a well appreciated meal.

Cleaning up, unscrambling the
house, hints left of who was here:

wine, a dozen coloring pictures,
a paper doll, a tinfoil sculpture.

The washing machine and dryer
hum full of sheets and towels.

I am exhausted with that good kind
of tired but, when the dryer is done,

I struggle with folding
the tablecloth myself.

Widow

When my friend told me
that her husband celebrated
her recent success with a
special dinner and champagne,

It was my anniversary.

My sense of well-being, my
enjoyment of my own company,
my determination to move on,
crumbled in a heap on the floor.

I picked up where I had left off;
the familiar yearning and naked
grief. The truth that you are gone
forever. This time without the numb.

Healing

When you lost your
grip on this world,

you dropped my heart.

It fell to the floor,
smashing into shards,

covering every corner.

I felt there was no fix,
no repair, no way back.

Or, so I thought

For Violet

I woke up this morning
and forgot to grieve.

Outside my window,
birds, flowers, Spring.

Buried was the mental
and physical tedium

of constant sorrow.

Inside my heart, a
secure place for you,

a renewed sense
of hope and, possibly,

even happiness.

Essence

When the house is quiet
and my soul is still,
I can feel your essence,
in the hollow of my being.
It says,
"I am here.
You can breathe me in.
You can sense my warmth.
You can be at peace.
You can hold my heart
in the palm of your hand.

from Words for the Unbearable

My Dreams

My dreams unfold
like a run-a-way train.

Frenetic visions, ideas,
memories, ricochet

against each other in
boundless themes,

something like a
silent film on steroids.

Attempting to follow,
I run along side,

never entirely sure
what my unconscious

is so desperately
trying to tell me.

Surrender

I am riding on a sun ray,
through the warm air,
cool breeze wafting
in my hair, pillowed
in a soft cloud, rocking
to the soundtrack of
my memories, held by
all who have loved me
and all I am leaving
behind, in kindness
and appreciation, on
my way to the moon.

Time

Time passing,
stops for no one,
bringing you
closer to the
finish line.
Makes you
question your
life choices,
where you’ve
been and where
you’re going,
what’s the leaving
and the grieving
and the meaning
of what you’ll
leave behind.

Sweet Memory

Memories whisper
in soft voices that

can barely be heard
unless you pause

your world, wrap
your arms around

yourself, and be
perfectly quiet

and still.

Then you can
understand what

messages are there
and why they are

coming to you
at this particular

time and place,
allowing you to

embrace

yourself, held
in their comfort.

e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in]

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Holding my two bonus daughters in my heart.

My Daughters’ Mother

When I heard she was dying,
I sensed all the broken hearts
around her, collapsing in a pile,

one and one and one

after the other, falling without
ceremony, matching the chaos
of the end of living and the start

of a painful, senseless death.

Life Task

I believe

our task in life is to answer our souls;
to discover and embrace who we
are in spite of the rigors of life.

Discovery has to do with the puzzle of
finding out who we are separate from
who we have been told we are.

That is, separate from fulfilling
our parents’ and society’s expectations.

So that,

on my deathbed, I can look back
and find that I showed up
primarily myself in every way.

My goal is to lead an authentic life,
one with meaning and care for others,

leaving this life fulfilling the
task of being, for myself and
others, who I really am.

.Thinking about the young grieving mother who was me.

Hand in Hand

Hand in hand, her young, me old,
I pull her near me, loan my soul,
soothe her fears, feel her pain,
promise love always, take her home.

Spring

Can you think of
a better thing

than sun warming
a cool breeze,

while

the song of birds
and hum of bees

harmonize

and

air fills in a sweet
scent of growth

for

a space in time
when the world

is in you and you
are in the world?

Memory

The memory comes so close
that you can touch it, but

you know you won’t be able
to completely have it in the now.

You think, It is so like you, with
your expression and voice, but

it can’t be exactly because so
much time has past since you

left and memory is fading like
when the day’s light fades, but

it is so good to bask in the memory,
if only for the short time it lingers

in your mind.

Even so, there is a bit of hope. (Photo by Denise Kaplan)

We’re all just walking each other home.
Ram Dass

Pomegranate Tree

I watch a flood of
tiny birds hopping

in the naked branches
of the pomegranate tree.

The tree is bare
except for five

rotting pomegranates
hanging open at the top.

If I didn’t know spring
is coming (as always),

I would swear
the tree is dead.

But the birds seem
to know; they hop

around full of hope
with so much life.

Time Out

Sometimes I require the company
of a really good poem or, at least,
a passable one.

The need builds quickly and
I leave whatever life event is
occupying me to write.

I jot down a poem, read it over,
and feel such relief,
like being in a hot bath with candles and
a chocolate chip cookie.

Adios (Bravado)

Grief has packed his bag
and headed out the back door.

I don’t believe he’s taken
everything and I expect to

find traces of him in future;
a finger, a toe, an entire foot.

When I find his pieces, I will
likely hold on to them and weep.

Then, because I agree with his leaving,

I might put them in bag
outside for him to collect,

with a note that says,

“I am leaving the grieving so
I can go on with the living.”

Grief is love with no place to go.