A poem I wrote about those who change our lives, who no longer walk this earth, yet somehow remain “alive” to us, offered today on November 1, All Saints Day – in Christian tradition, a day to give thanks for those who once walked with us, and all those who went before us in the faith.

On the Resurrection of the Body

Without that beloved singular one,
Who would I be?
With each death, a part of my body departed,
Life suddenly after never the same:
Ripped away, irreplaceable, always, right there,
An absence for that one only.

Yet sometimes, seemingly in solitude,
I find one of them (or more) in my presence,
Feeling very words they would say,
With what look, tone, touch.
And I remember terrains of growth since each after,
As if their essence was forever grafted into the now:
Left behind,
Yet joined, and living.