On Not Writing To Ellen Poem by James O'Connell
On Not Writing To Ellen
I did not write for years, and now
It’s too late as the earth covers
A brown box containing a body
That awaits the resurrection
.
Yet long before that last rising
I can feel a sense of presence
That is richer than my silence
And closer than the unkind sea
That separates us who are
The literate unwriting Irish.
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4/26/2024 6:39:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Few experiences are sadder than when death intervenes to take away an opportunity to communicate or to meet. The poet expresses simply and poignantly love and a sense of loss.