Willow kaddish 2021-06-25

Every year I sat kaddish
the quiet leaves falling
remembering my dearest wish
to save you from needing to die.

Twenty years you were then
and twenty years I sat beside
with all of my few joys, I kenned,
as nothing in balance against your loss.

I thought again to be a phoenix —
to leave, as you, a sibling
set free of my own burdens, a new self
sitting kaddish for two.

One day, in the grove where I buried you,
I saw you in a hammock swinging
sleeping in the solace so longed for
beneath the willow tree.

No fire for me, no phoenix free;
but roots in water, and Willow's tree.

A poem for I and Willow.