One late summer evening
In the autumn of our lives
As we often do these days
We talked about death
These were our good times
The old feuds, bitter arguments
Cutting insults, biting sarcasms
All lay behind us
We agreed, life is too short
And getting shorter
We resolved to see our days out
In a companionable truce
We no longer rose to the bait
That could disturb the surface of our lives
The wounds were healing
Though some scars remained
I’d like a woodland burial she said
Beneath a rowan tree
To give passers-by pleasure
After I am gone
I will find a suitable location
To bury her ashes and plant the tree
Somewhere to remind me of her,
Somewhere awkward and irritating.
Hi Terry,
A superbly interesting poem. It reminds me of the work of the great Irish poet, Eavan Boland. Do you know her work? Her best collect is OUTSIDE HISTORY. (1990. Carcanet) She died last year. What a loss.
The most talented poets write about death. Perhaps it’s because it’s the unnameable.
Very good luck with your work.
Thanks for you kind words Alan. It’s great to be mentioned in the same breath as Eavan Boland. Especially since I am a reader of poetry and someone who only occasionally commits poetry. I have heard of but not read her. I’ve only just discovered another great Irish poet, Michael Longley, and am currently reading the collection, Ash Keys, which celebrates, I think, his 80th birthday. I shall definitely be reading some Eavan Boland.