This place

I have missed this place

Where we once cottaged with our children

And our beloved dog,

When they were small.

What a relief it is to be here once more

Even though we are all older.

Our last summer before my son

Moves away and turns over a new chapter.

Two more summers to go until

My daughter

Too

Leaves the nest.

This is probably

Our last trip with our beloved dog

Whose old heart feels as though it will give out

Every time she tries to keep up with us.

Right now,

I have an open door

With a lush green view of tree tops.

It is almost quiet except

For the sound of birds

Singing to another

In an intimate language of their own.

I often dream of our place

With its quaint little shops,

Blue mountain peaks

And

The sparkling bay

Which stretches out for miles like a water colour brush stroke.

We will always be connected to this place

Because it will remain part of our inner landscape.

By J. Hamilton

• 

For my father

This thing called grief

Never loosens its grip.

I was scared I would forget your face,

Your voice

Your smell.

I have not forgotten those things that made you unique

But I have almost forgotten what it is to be loved

Without conditions

To be reminded that I was special.

Now she is gone too.

Is there anything beyond the physical world?

If there is

I hope it is a kind place,

A Place for you to be finally free of all those things that made you hurt.

And I hope that she is there with you.

And you are taking care of her,

Loving her

And keeping her safe.

I have not seen your gaze in years

Nor hers.

There is a heaviness to this grief.

A longing

And a fear of forgetting.

I was waiting for a kind of light to take the place of its darkness

But here it is.

This place of nights.

By J. Hamilton