for catherine inculet 1957-2015
There’s a poem here.
Catherine, it’s been forty-five days
since I last saw your face.
I’ve been busy on your behalf;
the Will, the theatrics, the Wake,
so I haven’t had time to grieve.
I recently read your poems,
your rants and raves and blogs,
seen your photos, the hoarding, plays.
I said to myself yesterday,
there’s a poem here.
Today I read with wonder
your public school notebooks, and
your smile, you know the one
on all the photos taken
at your short-lived wedding,
shone from every handwritten page.
So much life ahead of you.
So much innocent childhood joy.
I could see your future paths expand
before me on each and every page;
daughter, humanitarian, lawyer, lover, thespian.
There is a book here, after I grieve.