In Memoriam, Alfred, Lord Tennyson

L.

Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow.

Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack’d with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame.

Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.

Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day.

_______

Making Christmas...not bright, not in a Nightmare Before Christmas way, but making it a time of presents for those present and reflection on those passed from me (my best friend, my Mammaw, my sister, my sweetheart), and owning up to a future of loneliness.

Next week is fast approaching, when I scatter Harvey's ashes. As I travel to his family farm, the place we met, the places we lived and loved, and a special garden, I remember Harvey's wish to not be underground but of the ground. He wanted to be in many places at once, so I'm doing my best to honor that wish. He wanted me to move forward without him after the New Year, which I cannot promise to honor. I may not talk about him as much, which in a way would be a relief.

There are poems that I'm going to recite for him: "Cremation," by Jeffers and the last section of Leaves of Grass at the ceremony with family; "A Birthday" by Merwin and one of my own poems privately at the places I visit alone. Send good thoughts my way next week.

I disagree with the cliche: It should read What doesn't kill us does kill something in us.