Poem of the Week |15| Aftermath


I can still remember
The mangled, mustard front
Of the bonnet and the way
The glass obscured
A glimpse of the Holy Mother
On your dashboard-
Plastic, blue and
Serenely expressionless.

I recalled the way
Your bumpy fingers
Would salute her,
Your insistence
She would rest there
Always, keep you
Safe on the road.

I walked through the dead,
birdsong-veiled village,
Thinking it travesty
To scrap the vessel
Imbuing your smell,
Yours only and
Still held together
By the Virgin
Who crossed the darkness
With you.


You both survived then
But the die was cast
And as ever
The storm clouds break.
So, you left us
With remembrances,
And the death of the sacred,
Still longing to be saved
By these things
We carry all the way.