(Dona Eley, June 22, 1951 – Jan 22,2023)

A white, featureless Meadow

But defined, neat borders

By dark cold water of the creek

Demarcation of white and dark. 

I peer down, a perch high up

Near the cabin rafters

The cold, dark water

How to describe this dark?

Dipping my hand, cutting it off

At the wrist

The children played there

Yesterday, Oblivious

Of the Cold

Hour upon hour, sledding

Down the path

To the dark water

I tried it, the inner tube sled

Tumbling, spinning,

Colliding with a tree, ripping a hole

The kids were

Disappointed, but conciliatory. 

I have video of her

Riding this luge

Down the runway

To the dark creek

Screaming

Of fear and delight.

That was her

Those eight years of illness

Fear conjoined with delight

Until she approached the line

Demarcation of white and dark,

And stepped across.

I occasionally see her,

On the other side. 

Having crossed the dark water

Not waiting, not beckoning

But looking back 

With contentment.

The man-of-sorrows

Had crossed before her.