Arlene Corwin writes

A Death In Families

Many died December one, twenty eighteen:
Babies starved in Yemen.
A president, protesters, rioters,
Yet, and yet one death came nearer, dearer
Which we felt and feel
Longer, deeper, real-er
Than the global multitude.

It does, but shouldn’t.
Shouldn’t but it does.
So, one but throws
The end into the emptiness
Of universes’ possibilities:
Hopes, faith, wishes - and acceptance
To reduce the stress of sorrow,
Day’s tomorrow,
Back to normalcy as soon as tears can slow,
Never knowing what can be
For you, them, we
Without the warning of a morning.

There will be a time for mourning;
Funerals, a getting rid of overflows,
Clothes, what-not,
Things got through the years.
There will be time for letting tears,
Contemplating fears denied.

So on December two
Life will go on, plants grow, snow snow,
The Arctic melt in climate change,
Corruption, goodness interchange
With not a winner.
One will once again ignore
Aridity and wetnesses,
The multitude of witnesses,
Attempting as before
To focus on the battered Earth,
A bettered Self,
A more inclusive view of Death.

[I was intuitively drawn to record yesterday's passing of Kent’s daughter Pia, 54.]

 La Pia de' Tolommei [detail] -- Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Ah, when thou has returned unto the world,

And rested thee from thy long journeying...

Do thou remember me who am the Pia

--Dante, Purgatorio, Canto V (tr. Henry Wadsworh Longfellow)