Vox Populi
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Michael Simms: Zed
Somehow I always believed if we live
faultless lives, kind and generous,
if we sit at the bedside of those who have
no one else, if we bend to rub the ears
of the dog hungry for small attentions,
rock the baby in our arms
so mom can sleep in the next room,
hours sliding by like gentle ghosts,
if we sit down with the small boy
and carve the alphabet to zed,
if we ask the name of the doll, held
so sweetly in the little girl’s arms,
if we kindly lie, praising the bland dish
served with love as we visit the home
of an old friend, sit on the patio,
watch monarchs land on milkweed
halfway to the place ancient memory
calls home because we have no other life
than this one, if we remember the far boat
of long ago where a boy and an old man
cast their lines into the still water
of evening, if we are kind to ourselves
we can be kind to others, and then
we’ll be protected. Our children will be safe.
We can leave this earth in peace.
Oh, my dear friend, I remember how you held
your baby in your arms as we sat in the grass
on a summer day, and we never imagined
we’d outlive our children
.
for N. S.
© Michael Simms 2023. From Strange Meadowlark to be released by Ragged Sky on September 1, 2023 and which can be pre-ordered now.
Michael Simms is the founding editor of Vox Populi. His many books include the fantasy novel The Green Mage (Madville, 2023). He lives in Pittsburgh.
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Astonishing! Beautiful and heartbreaking
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Thanks, Susan. This poem is in my new book Strange Meadowlark, released yesterday.
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I’m saying, “Yes, yes, yes” as I read along, nodding at the thought of a life kindly lived, and then that ending rips my heart right out of my chest. What a heart-stopping poem.
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Thanks, Susan. Yes, losing a child is a heart-stopping experience. Having witnessed it among my friends a number of times, I know the experience, albeit second-hand, very well.
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A gorgeous, heart-full poem. There is no protection, is there? And who is faultless, though we try?
Thanks for this one.
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Thanks, Lex.
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So tender and beautiful. I was in tears at the end.
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Thank you, Barbara. I admire your poems so much, your praise is like sunlight.
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I had to catch my breath after this one. Such beauty and sorrow. Thanks for posting it.
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Thanks, Clayton. It is an important poem for me.
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Thank you for this serene poem
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Thank you so much, Marina. I love your website. It’s been such an inspiration to me in my editing and publishing.
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Thank you for your words 😊
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Wonderful poem. I love the specificity of the images—how I knew they were building to something but didn’t imagine the final devastating scene.
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Thank you, Wendy. I’m often blown away by the last lines of your poems as well.
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Michael, how painful and how beautiful these truths we have to learn to carry. Thank you
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Thank you, Noel. Yes, these truths are painful and beautiful.
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She writes a poem about what many people have believed, that “IF” they did everything RIGHT, their reward would come, but as one reads the poem, we know that, yes there can be a reward, such as our children growing healthy and wise, and loving, but most often the reward is never that big bang of happiness which is equal to all the trouble one has been through. But either one leaves it as a metaphysical problem of life not being fair, or one realizes that it’s the powers that be, the economic and political one-percenters, that hold back the people’s rewards, or hog them, steal them, all up for themselves.
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Wow, Luz. You pack so much into a paragraph. Thank you for this rich and profound insight.
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Oh! What an ending. As a poet once wrote—Wake up, wound, the knife said💔
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Thank you, Lisa. The event behind this poem is still an open wound.
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Lovely, heart breaking, razor sharp and tender tribute.
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Thank you, Kathleen. I admire your poems as well.
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Beautiful, Michael!
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Thank you, Stephen.
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Oh, Michael! This one grabs that place that every parent knows and wrenches it.
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Thank you, Kim. Your support has literally changed my life.
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I love your work. And your friendship!
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Powerful, stunning poem, Michael. Stopped me in my morning tracks.
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Thank you so much, Michelle.
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“Like.” Like?! Where is the “torn apart and forced to piece yourself back together” button? The “shattered into tenderness” button? Crying, as I write, “thank you.”
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Yep
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i’m with louise. shattering/shattered
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Oh, thank you, Abby.
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Thank you, Louise. You are the master teacher. Your praise means everything to me.
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Oh, Michael. This one hit me hard. This week I learned an old travel buddy has dementia and connected with her. This week one of her sons died and her other son must love and go on living.
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Oh, thank you, Barbara. I find the the most difficult part of growing old is losing everyone I care about.
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Mike, by one vignette or another of “if,” you captured the human longing of life as remembered. You called to my mind my paternal grandmother standing beside me in solemn silence before the obelisk tombstone of her eldest child and daughter who had died from falling off of a horse at age 18. My grandmother whispered to me, “You’ll never know how much I miss her.”
Thank you for your poetic heart.
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Oh, thank you so much for your spiritual guidance, Charles. Your wisdom means so much to me.
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A heartbreker.
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Thanks, Rose Mary.
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Oh my dear friend — what a poem! I remember being so moved by that poem in your book, and am so moved again this morning. Dear Michael.
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Thanks, Laure-Anne. I love your poems so much, your praise is like spun gold.
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One of my favorites — gently arriving at a stoicism that replaces delusion with kindness — from a deep and satisfying book.
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Thank you, Richard. Your respect for my work means the world to me.
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What a gut-punch at the end. Oh, my friend: such yearning on your behalf.
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Thank you, John.
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Knock me down lovely Michael! I believe that too—if only…
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Thanks, Sean. If only…
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