Solitude - Ella Wheeler Wilcox. I Don't Remember... by Ash L Bennett. I don't remember, any more, The exact shape of your handsAs I held them in mine, Caressed them, Memorized the length of your fingers, The depth of your calluses.
I don't remember, any more,Exactly your height, how muchTaller than meYou were, whereMy head rested on your chestWhen you held me tightly close. I don't remember, any more, Your scent, when we lay togetherCreating our ownMagic rhythm, Matching our heartbeats as weTouched the sky, together. I don't remember, any more, The sound of your voice, calling My name as thoughIt were a song Within itself, a precious treasure You valued with all your being. And I don't remember, any more, The color of your eyes, the shapeOf your lips, Only...How your eyes crinkled at the cornersAnd your laugh, as you told me, "I love you. " Copyright by Ash L. Weekly Poem: 'Visiting Auschwitz' By Elana Bell what extra scrap of bread what glance from a slop-drunk SS what rage raised the rusted shovel struck it on the starving ground until the whistle ended day what muscle corded in the thighs not buckling to the bed of lice of bloody flux what propped her up when her bowels released the spoiled cabbage soup and she couldn’t hold her dead-weight head what switched the names so she was not called what scarf smuggled from the storage hull a shred so she could wipe herself what song muffled in the dark what glint willed the breath what saw her and said live Elana Bell is the author of “Eyes, Stone” (2012, LSU Press), winner of the Walt Whitman Award for 2011.
Listen to Bell read her poem “Your Village” here. Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep. I came across this poem recently in StumbleUpon.
It really moved me and I wanted to share it with you. It is written by Mary Elizabeth Frye. Mary Elizabeth Frye (Dayton, Ohio, 13 November, 1905 – Baltimore 15 September 2004) was a Baltimore housewife and florist, best known as the author of the poem “Do not stand at my grave and weep,” written in 1932. She was born Mary Elizabeth Clark, and was orphaned at the age of three.
In 1927 she married Claud Frye. The identity of the author of the poem was unknown until the late 1990s, when Frye revealed that she had written it. Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circling flight. I am the soft starlight at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die. Home.