Loss

Pralaton, January 2007, p. 15

And who is he I used to know,
Before partition broke his back?
His world had ripped and began to ache;
He liked the life he lived before
And left to try his luck once more.
We stood confused, the tired, unwell,
Too old to work, too young to school.
The call was quick; its distance kills.
Another world, high in the hills.
A name on stone, a stone in snow.
And who is he I used to know?

A name on stone, a stone in snow.
Three letters born from family’s past.
I’m not the first; I named the last.
I left my son in his mother’s steer
For springtime days in life’s full year.
My mother’s hand holds all her might;
My sisters both pray to the right.
I flew back west when Father died
And claimed the scraps of childhood pride.
And who is he? I used to know.
A name on stone, a stone in snow.

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