Bonnie Thurston

I awake to sense
a great undertow,
recall the day
my beloved 
joined the saints.
It is a drag
not of memory,
but something cellular,
buried deep in the body,
a heaviness felt
as anniversaries approach,
like an anchor
not fully brought up,
like stones in the pocket
of ones favorite jacket.
To remember the cause
of this eruption
of inner darkness
is to light the lamp
of another remembrance,
of the common lot,
of the suffering of others.
It offers the blessing
of the opportunity to exercise compassion.

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