Poetry Contest for Women over 50
-for Anya Silver on the day of her funeral
By Marjorie Maddox Posted in Poetry on March 22, 2019 0 Comments 1 min read
Hope Might Float Previous For the Daughters of my Friends Next

Which you won’t/
can’t/never will with your crow-
calling, bloom-cracking,
soul-tapping, house-toppling,
forty-nine years
enter
too young, too gone
The ivy is climbing away
from today but your words
cling to this thing we can’t/
won’t/never will
enter, crow-bloom toppled;
house-tapped, years-gone
entered
too soon, too soon
I want to write you, “Here’s another
home for your bloom-tapping
to enter, to climb over, to topple
ivy into a crow’s soul.” And you
would nod at the nonsense,
understand, even underage
enter into the toppling of won’t/
can’t/never will and what it means to
enter
too gone, too soon
a scream that blooms crows
all over this soul-toppled house,
cracks climbing into now,
your caw-caw of forty-nine years
entered then, tapped just like that
into this won’t/can’t/never will,
into this gone, gone, gone.


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