Autumn Haiku

Leaf bursts into flame
Glories in fall's slanting sun
Then is seen no more

I have never moved mountains but they have trembled in my sight
when the fury has poured over in hot tears of not right;
and the earth has not been shaken by anything I said
but I've had my footing swept away by eyes that I have read
and by words that shook foundations and cut me to the quick
though I didn't lose a drop of blood, kept stumbling, hurt and sick.
And the planets in alignment have shuddered and misstepped
from explosive angry visions I saw just before I slept.
So shaken have been all the worlds this universe contains
by rumblings in my thoughts and by poisons in my veins;
not only is it faith that can move mountains by the ranges
but death comes, and its aftershocks, and all you trusted changes.

Shall I go on praying for my children
now that one of ours is no more?
And shall I pray for future generations,
the way I faithfully would pray before?
When once the thing you fear has come upon you
it won't make sense to go on as you were;
the knowledge of how fragile life is always
can stop you cold as you begin your prayer.
The search begins to find if there's an answer;
one question sounds, another right behind it-
how shall I go on now that his has happened?
and why? And I sincerely hope I find it.

Peach Pie recipe, modified
(serves the rest of the family,
coming home all together
for the first time since the accident)
-Roll out pie dough, prepared a few days before,
when the family get-together was arranged.
Place in pie pan, brush with egg
that has been beaten
-Using the last of the peaches
that the heroic brother and sister brought home
from the trip west to pick up
all their brother's belongings
from his small apartment;
do not peel, but chop to make 5 cups
-2 tablespoons lemon juice,
sprinkled over peaches in large bowl,
mixing gently. May add a tear or two
-In separate bowl, mix 1/2 cup sugar
and 1/2 cup flour, 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon,
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg, 1/4 teaspoon salt
-Pour over peaches, mix gently
-Pour into pie crust,
dot with two tablespoons butter,
stopping to wipe tears and blow nose,
washing hands after words, weeping words
in grieving mind that still can't believe it
-Cover with top crust, brush with beaten egg,
pierce with fork
-Bake 400 10 minutes, then 350 for 30 minutes,
or until golden brown
-After beating, chopping, mixing,
weeping, washing, grieving,
piercing,
cool before serving.

I'm tired of you, grief.
My eyes are sore from taking your hits.
My stomach aches from the punch you gave it.
My legs are weakened, and dizzy my head;
My mouth is dry and my nose is red.
Every time I try to walk away
you spin me around and land another.
I've no strength to hit back; there's nothing to say.
For I know to fight back is not worth the bother.
It seems you never will let me go;
as far as I run, you're still there with me, I know.
You'll take all my strength and turn my hair gray.
I'm tired of you, grief, but you're here to stay.,

Somebody show me another world
I'm kind of tired of this one.
Take me away for a moment of rest
To forget for a while we lost one of the best
And I promise i'll come back and pick it all up
And do all my chores and finish my cup
But just for an hour a week or a year
Show me another world.

Between mother and child there is a bond,
intangible but intended for permanence,
which all the years of growing up
and out and away may thin and stretch,
but never sever,
as permission is given for child to grow up
and mother to grow old and less needed.
Where love is, the bond brings joy
at every reunion, and distress at every parting.
Death, then, is a cruel occurrence,
a disruption of an essential system
in the human heart.

And there is no consolation
and can be no consolation

That mental placement,
the automatic locator system in a mother's brain,
whereby at any moment she numbers all her children
and knows where each is
cannot be turned off,
and continues the search
long after the body has been found
and always returns to 
the wound that was his location in her mind.