A poem I read a lot in the spring of 2008

March 10, 2001

Three crisscrossed daffodils
faint lamps in the rubble

where without any warning
I'm shattered by your absence

wondering will I always
blunder into this emotion

so large and mute it has no name
—not grief  longing  pain

for those are only its suburbs
its slightly distracting cousins—

summoned just now by these
frilled blossoms

butter yellow horns
on lemon yellow stars

indifferent   innocent
charging in place

advance guard of a season
when I will join you.

-- David Young 

I am cleaning out boxes of things I've been carting around since we moved back to France 12 years ago. I came across this poem by David Young that I printed out and probably used as a bookmarker or posted on our tiny Parisian fridge, or let float around in my purse for months. It meant so much to me when I read it at the time, but now it I see it as embodying all the things I hold on to in order to not forget painful moments, as if by letting go of those reminders to weep, I will lose my footing, be carried away by -- what? Joy? Lack of empathy? It's hard to say.


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