a poem by Susan Arcady Barich 2010
to Sandy with love, Suse
You are her father
And now she is lost to you.
Be good to yourself.
You will never again hear that voice or see her eyes.
Though you will turn to see her in a crowd,
It will not really be her.
The girl at a table nearby will look quite like her,
And you will sit, staring, remembering her,
Spiraling down into your thoughts,
Your love,
Your grief.
Grief, the ever-present stalker.
And you will wonder,
Why did that particular girl with the impish mouth
and the blue eyes with the heavy lashes have to sit
Right here?
Right in front of me?
So that I do not even have to turn my head to see her?
And you will smile at whomever you’re with,
even though you are far away,
And you will pretend that you have not just been turned
Inside out.
And you will hear the name Lauren
and have only one thought.
Of her.
And that she is gone from you now
And all the time you will ever have with her
You have had.
All the phone calls, the talks, the “I love yous”
You will ever have,
You have had.
And one day they will say to you,
Why do you seem so fragile today?
Aren’t you over that yet?
Does that still bother you?
And you will wonder,
Would they ask me that if I had lost a leg?
A lung?
An eye?
Are you over that cut-off leg yet?
No.
They would say,
Have you learned to walk without your leg yet?
Have you learned to breathe without that lung yet?
Have you learned to see with only one eye?
Have you learned to live this new life?
