Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal

Grief

Judith Anderson


Those who stare see poise and peace
But I am a statue,
Hollow,
Stored in darkness,
The darkness found in deep caves
Or dank tunnels long forgotten...
If hope or joy exist, they are as ephemeral
As light reflected from butterfly wings
Or wisps of mare’s tail clouds
In a hot desert sky—
Either remembered or imagined—
I can’t tell which.
I am empty.
Soon I must make a choice,
To accept the darkness,
Or seek to find again
The ephemeral,
If they do exist.

***

Judith Anderson lives on 20 acres at the end of a dead end road in St. Clair County. She recently obtained her first Confederate Rose plant and points with pride when it blooms, but as much as she loves flowers, she is more famous as a "seed undertaker" than gardener. She is more successful as a grandmother and wife and mother, and to fill out her life, she works with her husband in a nonprofit organization.

© Judith Anderson

Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal ISSN 1554-8449, Copyright © 2004-2012