Ruth Daigon

Unlit Places The dead complain we lack the skill to keep them buried but that's the earth's job. There's no safe burial ground. They'll shine up through the grave spreading their affection. Offered refuge under markings and memorials, they refuse and wait for us in unlit places tapping their white canes-- the terrible patience of those with time. In the slow caress of years our weight is doubled by the burden of others we cultivate and carry and deep in the future children keep us alive.

Copyright © 2000 Ruth Daigon All Rights Reserved