Jan Hauck (June 1,1978)
Where are you now, you and your death,
The one child you kept as your own,
They transformed you, changed you,
Before you could rise again from the crawl space,
Once in every ten years, before the sparks.
Where are you now, you and your words,
Transformed you and me and us every time,
Understood and unchanged, risen five times,
And never come home to me, to my own
Children I keep and my own dark crawl space.
Where are you now, you and your voice,
That strict teacher's voice, hard on yourself
And others like me, refusing to read me in you,
Until you are resurrected for truth, that lotus
Out of the dung heap of time.
Comments about this poem (Sylvia's Death by Jan Hauck )
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