In my previous blog, “The Hands of a Poet, the Hand of a Poet,” I issued my readers a challenge: Write a 50-word piece in any genre—flash fiction, poetry (haiku, tanka, etc. welcome), memoir—that tells the story of the photograph.
The most moving response came from my sister-in-law, Patti Bourne, who lives in Lyons, NY. She sent the photo above with this:
“I did something a little different…used a different photo but the theme of hand is there!
“The shaking of the hand holding the phone
taking the last picture of my black-haired love
as I spread out next to her
lying on the floor on her favorite spot
next to the hearth of the now cold stove.
I reach for her with my hand today and
she is not there.
Longing to hug her warm body and have one final
feel of her soft black hair.”
Patti also sent a second response to the challenge—one that played of the posted photo:
“Okay…for the real photo assigned:
“You do not see
all that I have lost here,
the emptiness of my heart,
I cannot reach the pillow
where your head used to lay.”
Thank you, Patti-sis, for taking the time to let the muses do their thing—inspire you to write as a means to express your grief over the death of Emmy Lou, that sweet, sweet dog. And, whilst tapping into your grief, remember mine. It’s now going on five years since my Roger passed away. If there’s a heaven, he is with Emmy Lou, his hand scratching her ears and rubbing her belly. Can’t you just see it?