Poem: Trying to understand trapdoors

My spells of grief are not as frequent now,

 for the season has changed,

 and winter has come.

October seems so long ago

It’s almost odd to think of you alive.  

Yet  there you are in my dream

In the hustle-bustle of dead souls:

Very professional – wearing your topcoat –

All business-like in a crowd – heading off somewhere.

You don’t see me standing behind the glass wall. 

Having watched you go,

 I turn and waken and think maybe my grief

has gone at last with you

 into the city of the dead.

But then, once more, without warning,

the trap door opens beneath my feet:

Just before I fall

 into the oblivion of grief,

 I recall that suddenness

of everything disappearing.

And I wonder

Is this how you died?

The heart-wrenching pain,

The hard fall – knowing this time it was not going to end well,

 As you dropped in the void.

[December 19, 2010    Lorna Harris]