Something inobvious hovers
about the memories of dearly departed
grandpas and grandmas, uncles and aunts,
moms, dads, brothers and sisters,
something scarcely known
suffusing all that loss like sunlight’s
slant through stained glass windows.
Into that something pain transforms.
From that something solace flows:
kinship like a river winding
that joins the family to one.
High, deep and wide surrounding,
yet elusive to the touch,
a wordless poem, a soundless song,
promise without any object.
Something we wear, eat, make love to.
Something like wind fresh at our backs.
Something like you behind this veil
whose willing breath sustains me.
Not quite mystery. Not quite joy.
Almost a home where all abide.
A dream fulfilling. Clearing skies.
Something we die for to attain.
Darrell Petska‘s poetry has appeared in journals such as Muddy River Poetry Review, Chiron Review, Star 82 Review, Clementine Unbound, and After the Pause (see conservancies.wordpress.com). He’s tallied thirty years on the academic staff at University of Wisconsin-Madison, 40 years as a father (seven years a grandfather), and longer still as a husband.