Passage

Parliament. Stockholm. Friday evening, February 22

"So You Begin"

initially you gasp as oxygen

becomes scarce it's not that

you refuse to believe what

you read on the screen: you cannot

so you reread

your mind seeks to right this thing

this sudden aberration you've

been trained to look for solutions

but there is only blindness now

so you grapple

your instinct is to fight but
your hands are tied as tightly
with the common fabric from
which your memories are cut

so you confront

you reluctantly try on the

news like a woolen sweater

too snug it burns it scratches

what it cannot conceal

so you stretch

this is the nature of the flood
that gives way:
you have no choice but to
surrender to the swirling deep

so you swim
so you pray

so you light a candle on the table
next to the white paper angel
against the vase of yellow tulips
you prop up her photograph

the one where she stands
strong as a western rose
chin cocked, feet planted
face firm, regal, resolute

so you begin




"The Passage"

I buried her somewhere
between the parliament building
and the cathedral tower

the one with the large
clock whose hands swept
in silence, indolently

sun shone that day
in stockholm and with a hat
the air was warm enough

guards changed positions
as expected, as planned
with pomp and splendour

crowd that had gathered
stood deferentially, snapping
pictures, readjusting handbags

they too had gathered to watch
this exchange, this choreography
they too had come for the passage

and still if they would have known her
as I did they would have put down
their cameras, lowered their heads

they too would have struggled
to see for the tears in their eyes
as the trumpeter began to play