'Funny, Sadness," a poem by Lisa Limont
was always there and therefore unremarkable.
In those years we laughed and sang
as we walked to the brook:
There’s a hole in the bucket, there’s a hole
in the bottom of the sea. Remember when you could walk?
We played with your removable casts, timed
each other from banister to bathroom door:
strapped in we hobbled, and back then
you were faster. We pushed off from the top
of Maple Street, me on the back of
your chair. Frame shaking, we flew down the wind.
Later we became engineers of minutiae:
raised tables, rolled up rugs, padded edges,
fitted grab bars, ramped entryways.
We shunned enemy territory: stairs, and
cities without curb cuts, elevators, or
warm dry weather.
Now that you are gone all that bracing against
works against me. I stumble and fall in thin air.
My heart is the sea and it is full of holes
our unsung sadness gushing in.
— Lisa Limont