As often happens, the muse found me just before sleep embraced me. Quietly, she murmured sweet words of encouragement inviting me to wake up and write it out.
I wasn’t all that willing a participant in her urgings. My turning on of the light and sitting up in bed was more reluctant than excitement at the prospect of writing out the glimmer of a thought she’d sprinkled in my mind.
I wanted to sleep.
I wrote anyway.
That’s the thing about the muse, and grief. You can’t just turn it off. You can only let it flow free.
The Last Time
by Louise Gallagher
The last time we chatted
I didn’t know there’d never be
another word connecting
my story to yours.
The last time you came for dinner
I didn’t know you’d never again arrive
with your habitual half hour earliness
arms laden with bags of food and gifts
you always brought for all the guests to enjoy.
The last time you sat at our table
I didn’t know we’d never share
another recipe
or I’d never again hear you giggle
and ask for just one more dram of Scotch.
I didn’t know.
And in my not knowing, I wonder
what would I change if I had known
that before the fall
that lead to your last breath
leaving
me here
breathing
the magic of another sunrise
the wonder of another day
the beauty of another moment
passing into the next.
Would I have insisted you join me at the park
as we so often talked about
me helping you navigate
the uneven pathway with your walker
just so you could witness
nature’s beauty along the river?
Would I have insisted
we take that trip to France
to fulfill on our mother’s dying wish?
Why didn’t I?
Death leaves no space or time for ‘why’.
There is only the finality of time stopping
for one,
as we
carry on
with each moment
pulling us further and further away
from that final breath,
that final touch,
that final word whispered
into the empty space left behind.
Missing you was easier
in the first days of your leaving.
I could pretend you were just away
on a trip
or shopping
or simply busy.
But now, months after death’s arrival
I can no longer avoid the certainty
of death
and its irrevocable invitation
I accept
no matter how heavy my heart
the last time I saw you
was the last.
Dare Boldly 
Have a listen. I am sure it will bring tears to your eyes. It’s so true.
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Have a listen to the muse? Sigh. She’s very persistent. 🙂 ❤
Or is there a link missing?
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Did the link not show up? Darn it
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It did not. 😦
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I’m glad you let it flow x
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Thank you. <3 Me too. ❤
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test comment – each time I try this system won’t let me comment
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I see you! WP seems to be having trouble – when I go into my Subscribers list, I see it for one moment, and then it’s gone!
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The MUSE must be obeyed, listened to, even followed at times. I agree ghat a muse’s timing is usually during the twilight hours when sleep is tugging at the eyelids. She really has no concept of the need to sleep when it is upon us. And why is a muse referred to as SHE, a WOMAN or HER? There are definitions linking back to Greek mythology and when one delves deeper, Greek goddesses were strong, assertive and intellectually on par with their male counterparts. The few that weren’t we shall quietly 🤭ignore.
All that to say that through your expressions of grief, as in this poem, you are sharing the life and legacy of a beautiful person, Jackie, who was an integral part of your life. Through your words, the muse has ensured that Jackie is there, by your side, every day sharing your joys, sorrows, the wonderment of nature, the quiet solitude of the twilight hours.
I have learned that one never ignores the MUSE as she is a force to be reckoned with. I do not think I would want her to come around when I am otherwise engaged. That could be a creative disaster, at least in my case.
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Ahh Iwona. You are so wise and insightful. lol — re quietly ignore btw.
And I love that imagery of Jackie by my side. Thank you — I also felt Andrew and my Wendy there too as I wrote it. Wendy died suddenly in September last year (like you a quilter) and we were very close.
and this — “I do not think I would want her to come around when I am otherwise engaged. That could be a creative disaster, at least in my case.” OMG — you made me snort out loud and startle Beau! LOL — I can SEE it! 🙂
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This poem is clearly straight from the heart/soul – it’s moving to read.
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It is where the words were written. ❤
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💝
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🙏
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And I love your comment — you made me laugh which I really appreciate. 🙂
and yes…. why oh why does she have to come calling as my eyelids are drooping? :)
Thank you.
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I give myself five minutes. However, once I’m going it’s hard to turn my back on the muse and say good night. I do wonder sometimes why the muse can’t come during more reasonable hours. I wouldn’t even mind trying to schedule some time together over lunch or getting together for coffee. But no, night time seems to be more the muse’s style. Anyway, love your poem, looks like it was very much worth getting up from sleep. Ha, ha.
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Have you ever considered a fun or funny posting ?
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LOL — I do occassionally…. lol — but I’m not that funny! But… you have given me food for thought Allan — perhaps, it’s an invitation to invite in my funny muse to see what I can create.
And I always love a writing challenge! Thank you. 🙂
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