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by
Donna Hilbert


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Our kitchen, winter Sunday,
boys playing on the floor,
I’m drying breakfast dishes
when I have the vision:
four chairs in front of a store
on a street I never travel.
Four chairs that will complete
our chair-less dining room suite.
I drive into the vision
and they are there,
with the same turned legs,
the same dark wood
as our furniture at home.
And on the bottom of one seat:
1927, date in the same hand
as on the table, underneath.

Everything sundered
wants reuniting,
everything rent, to mend.
So, I am not amazed Dear Heart
that nightly you walk
from the occluded country
to rest awhile with me.
Are not we
who have born three sons,
more joined than chair and table
turned from a single tree?

From The Green Season, 2nd edition (World Parade Books, 2012).
Used here with the author’s permission.

Purchase a framed print of this poem.

 

 Donna Hilbert writes and teaches private workshops from her home in Long Beach, California. Her work is widely published in multiple languages and she is featured in the documentary, “Grief Becomes Me: A Love Story.”  Learn more about Donna at www.donnahilbert.com.

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New comments are closed for now.
Wilda Morris:
Beautiful, Donna.
Posted 01/23/2013 09:16 AM
Judith Heron:
This is transformative and gorgeous... perfect to read before bed...and with gratitude. Judith Heron
Posted 01/21/2013 02:01 AM
wendy morton:
I have many who join me from the occluded country. What a beautiful blending of images.
Posted 01/20/2013 11:42 AM
Gail Goepfert:
How lovely. Sounds, images, all.
Posted 01/20/2013 09:23 AM
mimi:
Donna, such a lovely and poignant poem--thank you for sharing. Sharon Auberle
Posted 01/20/2013 08:54 AM
erinsnana:
A beautiful poem, Donna!
Posted 01/20/2013 08:14 AM


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