Judith Sanders: The Farewell

“Picture a staircase,” 
the hypnotist said.  
“At the top, a door 
will open
onto a landscape.”
 
You expected an ocean
as vast and churning,
as your grief. 
 
But it was only 
a little brown glade.
 
Something rustled 
in the underbrush.  
 
A deer.
Black-eyed and delicate.
 
It laid its head 
on your shoulder
and wept.
 
“That was your brother, 
bidding farewell.
 
As you descend, 
lay some grief 
on each step.”
 
She was eighty.
 
Since then,
others have died.
 
You were never able
to find her again.
 
-- 
 
 
For Sharon McDermott 

Copyright 2020 Judith Sanders