A Loss for Words

Poem by Marianne Bickett, copyright 2012



It’s just too precious to write about and yet I try

I think of life and the fledgling mourning  dove

Who’s neck looks injured

Who still tilts her head at me when I speak to her

Who needs words?

We understand each other.

But I worry, she and I both have so very little time

A blink, and poof!  Where did we go?

You’d think I’d find comfort in the fact

That Gandhi and Jesus and Mother Theresa- among

The list of ‘great ones’- have all died and so,

Heck, it can’t be all that bad!

I don’t know, though, when I think of my sister Patricia

Who died too soon, I ache so much that I

Rise up and say, “Not before I’ve mastered the cello!

There’s so much to do and I move so slow.

How many books now on my queue?

It just aches sometimes, you know?


The simple truth is that I’m inspired by everything

Nothing gets away without some kind of notice and it piles up

I feel things and I feel so rich

So much, without warning, my tender heart just breaks all over again

And I have to stop whatever I’m doing and feel it

Nothing seems to preempt it, sometimes I’ve even pulled over while I’m driving to feel grace


The little dove is now not so little

She looks so grown up and yesterday, I congratulated her

“Well done, nameless one, you’ve made it so far!

No small feat in a dangerous world full of cats, hawks, and humans (the worst)

I say this as a leaf blower Nah Nahs in the distance, such an annoying sound…not to mention the smell and dust it kicks up

It frightens her as it frightens me

And so I wonder what the big difference is between the two of us

She needs food, shelter, water, companionship…and love?

Don’t anyone tell me I didn’t see something very much akin to love when I saw her mother tirelessly feed her and watch over her as she took her first flight!!  Don’t even think it!!

Projection?  Who has the gall to tell me for certain they know it is not love??!!


I have to stop writing now, there’s stillness outside waiting for me to notice

Subtle movements against the backdrop of the noisy world we’ve created

Where no one seems to look except for in brevity of passing

A blink, and poof!  What did you see?

Categories: poem by Marianne Bickett


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