Gone, Gone, Gone, Cormac
By Racheal Strahlman
A body lost;
could it be a soul found,
sent on
to a place so pure
the grim realities of earth
cannot follow?
A heart can’t help but ache for the mother, but
we mothers
don’t ever stop
nurturing what remains,
in celebration of the body lost, or
never found.
You don’t unhear the scream
of a heart stopping.
You don’t unsee the black screen.
It stares back at you,
forces you to search
and search
and search.
Even in death, your eyes
were so pure.
Even in death, our blood remains in
one another.
Our souls, hand in hand,
walk the ashen Road. But
I am alone,
wondering,
where did you go?
Bio: Racheal Strahlman is a poet living in the Texas Hill Country with her husband and daughter. She moonlights as a policy analyst and enjoys connecting with wild fawns.
