Exiles' Poetry: "For Kyndall"
A lamentation for a dear friend taken too young
This poem was first published in The Lost Country literary journal. I wrote it for the passing of a dear friend, when I struggled to find the words to say to her brother.
January 15, 2015. Requiescat in pace.
For Kyndall
by Tyler Morrison
It rained that day; of course it rained that day.
The clouds were dark, the dripping faces pale,
Umbrellas black as suits and ties and dresses.
Drained and gray, I struggled, strained to say
Some sweet remark. But words of comfort fail.
All felt the lack. No sun would gild her tresses.
A preacher spoke; he may have quoted Psalms.
I can’t recall. But then, by God, he smiled!
Jesus, Heaven, Joy… This is our belief?
I sob and choke, dig fingers into palms.
I mustn’t bawl. But, God, she was a child!
These sermons cloy. Where is all your grief?
Her brother sees; concern is in his eyes.
The water bestirs, compounds, hides not our tears.
He asks, “Are you okay?” Her brother. Okay?
A long disease–and then, at last, she dies:
A daughter; a sister; a friend of countless years.
It rained that day. Of course it rained that day.
