Memorial Day Poem: Noon Hour

This past week I revised a couple of poems, resulting in a resurrection of some poignant memories. Although it wasn't something I consciously planned, posting "Noon Hour" seemed an appropriate way to acknowledge Memorial Day. As a college student, I wrote this poem after attending the funeral of a troubled friend who was close to my age when an accident took her life.

She was a single mother in her early twenties, trying to create a better life for herself and her son.

Phrases of our teenage conversations on my front lawn on summer nights have been drifting through my mind this past week. Maybe I was too simplistic or preachy or too absorbed in my own struggles. Maybe I could have done more to reach out, to find words that might have eased the frustration she must have felt when confronted with small-town expectations and cliques.

One thing is certain: I'll always be haunted by the image of my friend dressed in denim shorts as she bounced a ball back and forth behind her curly-haired, pinafored peers who were singing a sentimental ditty for some Young Women program. She paid dearly for her refusal to fit into well-intentioned molds.

I dedicated the poem to my friend's youngest brother.



Noon Hour
for Edward

South wind clipped the prayer word-thin;
I heard only syllables
but you, child, watched from the other side
of dusty carnations
blown over your sister's casket.

Wind twisted my full skirt
and melted transparent scarves
over older women's bouffant hair.

I couldn't hear you circle those dark angles
scissored at our feet
until our hands crushed together
and your head pressed my thigh.

Then scanty grass crept under your Sunday shoes,
not waiting for amens
or petals to lower out of the wind.

Copyright 2011 Nani Lii S. Furse