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to Ann

We sleep upstairs in the northwest corner

next door a single bed

northeast corner room to which my wife escapes walking without waking when I snore

and to which I retreat when I can’t sleep

or wake with a poem to write

quietly rising and moving east while she sleeps in the west

my star

Downstairs in the southwest corner is your altar

a backless chair with the large left stereo speaker

I had it when you were a baby and I walked you round and round the table until you could let go of your fierce battles and finally sleep

On top of the speaker an arrangement of two small wood carvings

and one large carved juniper piece from out west where you lived for awhile then died

curving around a group of poor man’s gems beach stones

each unique

and cherished placed and connected to its neighbors and the bits of wood to make your altar

my ceremony to shuffle each to where my heart says it should go now

they are together a much loved ancient family

In the same corner on the south wall is a pencil drawing I did of you when you were twelve or so

you look so sad

I didn’t know why when I captured just a little of who you were in two dimensions

but now I know more about why you suffered

what drove you to such unhappy life

the drawing of your sadness is the south wall of your altar

On the west wall is another pencil drawing

by an admired friend an old man farmer sailor musician and artist

a violent lament showing a robed middle eastern mother or father

a human being

weeping in despair

holding her his dead child

You own and my memory and prayer own the altar I maintain for you in the living room’s southwest corner

From the room in the northwest corner my office I look past my work to your picture

see your face

Ah but now it’s December and your corner is transformed

the speaker with its set piece of pebbles stones and wood is moved north

along the west wall with its large window overlooking bird and squirrel

feeders thorny bush wild havens woods and stream

replaced by a tree we’ve carefully chosen cut and brought home to decorate with lights and ornaments to make our hearts glad

I wrote this poem to let you know

each year the southwest corner for your altar

becomes a celebration

of life

from Ann — 10 poems for my daughter — Bill Eberle

December 20 and 21, 2014 — Thomaston, Maine

© 2015, 2026 Bill Eberle