This breath is me
it is my life.
A requiem of spirit
I stand still and think about its magic
its brilliance
often taken for granted
like any other flower.
And you...
You were not just any other flower
not to me
I loved you.
There are no funeral poems
that can describe it.
Airplanes fly overhead... still.
I often think they do not know
that you my flower
whimsical angel
my friend in this life
have ceased your breathing
on this earth where we all dwell.
I miss you constantly.
I imagine you places we have been
it feels so real.
I see you there
I tell you that I'm sorry to be late
and I feel your smile
my whimsical angel.
Sometimes I see someone who looks like you.
I think, 'oh there you are
not gone at all.'
Yet I know
it is not really you
and I am lonely for the wanting.
I search for funeral poems
but there are no words
only flowers people bring
in remembrance
flowers I have never met before.
It feels so vacant.
The things you gave to me
no one could really know
or understand
perhaps not even me
till now, now that I miss you so
and measure all my losses.
I will treasure my own breath
I will do this in your honor
a goddess post
an honor to my own self.
It is the colors in every rainbow.
It is the snow
silent on the ground in the morning.
It is birds singing
children playing
the smell of grass after it is mowed.
It is an infants breath
a token of newness.
It is bread in the oven
and coffee to meet the day.
It is every poem and painting
every sculpture that moves us
every story
every kind thought and deed.
It is all of those and of course
so much more.
I will treasure my own breath
this life of mine
and I will stand
yes without you
but I will forever thank you
for being a part of my life.
You and I are not just any flower.
By Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
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