Saturday, April 28, 2007
Poetry of death - 3
The trouble with my hair
The trouble with my hair is that it is linked to a memory
Linked to a person
Linked to laughter
And to someone else’s dreams
It is linked to my birthdays
To very practical advice and my wedding day
It is linked to Lisa
It is linked to Anna straightening it with her new Daddy's cell phone
In church on Sunday morning and muttering 'What will we do with your haaira.'
This day it is pink streaks
'You aways where deese earrings to chuch.'
The trouble with my hair is that if it grows it only means more time has passed since she left
And everyday when I'm done styling it looks the same - flat
And I know she would say 'Uh, maybe you need to come see me.'
If I trim it myself it's as if I can hear her 'Don't do that! Just come by and I'll trim it for you quick.'
If I get it trimmed it feels like a temporary solution to an enduring ache
If I cut it short it feels like her life - cut short, just ended with no resolve
Dreams not lived out but perhaps in exchange for a greater dream, for a different plan, one that I don't understand and don't question
When it is cut short, it feels like I'm moving on but not through
The trouble with my hair is that it doesn't feel fully mine
I don't know what to do with it without her telling me
The trouble with my hair is that it makes me remember and never forget
And I never want to forget
That I had a friend named Lisa who had 3 passions
Her little princess, Anna
c. 2006 - by Sonia Spooner (used with permission)
When I saw this poem on my daughter’s MySpace, I teared up. Because unlike other deaths she experienced last year – both her grandmas, who were old – Lisa was young, in her 20s and Sonia's good friend. She died suddenly from a blood clot, at the beach, in the middle of playing soccer with her family.
I’d say if you’re hurting or angry or mystified or grieving – write about it. Write a poem. Poems can be more raw, with less explanation and setting the stage. Writing like this aids healing.