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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