I scan the lines, but do not find a clue:
Beneath the lifeless photo of your face,
Mere moldering facts: the date, the time, the place
You died, and why, what work you used to do.
Unanswered here, one question burns anew:
Where are you? Not within the purchased space
Of this obit! I search for any trace,
For any hint, that reconnects with you.
I wonder, Can you see me now from where
You’ve gone? And do you know what is at stake
When I implore you for a sign? My prayer
Is for a whispered word, a ghostly touch,
A brush. Don’t say I’m asking for too much!
Please give me something more than just this ache!
Bryce Christensen was, until recently, professor of English, emeritus, at Southern Utah University, where he taught British and World literature. His poetry has appeared in The Formalist, First Things, Modern Age, Chronicles, Christianity and Literature, and North American Anglican. He is also the author of ‘The Portals of Sheol’ and Other Poems (White Violet Press).
I’d replace the last “for too much” with “far to much” given his ache in the end. And maybe only Bryce would have understood. RIP
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I don’t understand what “Don’t say I’m asking far to much!” would mean.
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