--- L I N D A   Z I S Q U I T

from My Mother's Death




I cannot speak to you in the old way.
half truths half hidden, fearing
you're doubting my goodness.
Not because I've finished doubting
myself, and not - the obvious choice -
because I need some open space to 
grow away from you. Then I lied and
bore the fact with pride. No
you'll never know what I'm about
to tell you: these months since you died
I've carried out research, witnessed
the past, reread your letters slowly,
one by one, and the harvest I've reaped
is your goodness, and the sorrow
in the field where I once lay
and now look up to see you gone
is the burnt out patch when I lacked
sympathy, and let you in half-way.