Lovely imagery, Mercedes, with a strong last strophe.
I found this one especially difficult, but here's my offering.
~~~
Footprints
In the end, you may awaken
to the rainstorm crash
of surf against shore,
to the frozen sun
of an indistinct gray morning.
You might think your path ended
at the water’s edge.
And if life can be broken down
to a card bought in a store,
you will be tempted
to search the sand for footprints—
yours or maybe another’s.
You will wonder
about the deep depressions
in the sand, and whether you
truly walked the steps.
If life can be written
on a plaque with comforting platitudes,
then you will be truly alone
with the cancer, or at your child’s grave.
You will miss everything
remembering the moments and failing
to notice your own indelible marks
in the sand.
I found this one especially difficult, but here's my offering.
~~~
Footprints
In the end, you may awaken
to the rainstorm crash
of surf against shore,
to the frozen sun
of an indistinct gray morning.
You might think your path ended
at the water’s edge.
And if life can be broken down
to a card bought in a store,
you will be tempted
to search the sand for footprints—
yours or maybe another’s.
You will wonder
about the deep depressions
in the sand, and whether you
truly walked the steps.
If life can be written
on a plaque with comforting platitudes,
then you will be truly alone
with the cancer, or at your child’s grave.
You will miss everything
remembering the moments and failing
to notice your own indelible marks
in the sand.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson