A Elegy For Monica Poem by Gert Strydom

(after Theodore Roethke)

I remember the way you walked, at times did smile to me,
a shy kind of smile, your quick lingering glance,
but when I got you to talk the words rushed out,
as if those syllables was for me especially meant

like a redbreast twittering while fluttering on the breeze.
then frolicking happily from branch to branch,
shaking it with a trembling and the big old tree,
its branches and even the shade was part of the song,
where every other bird chirped along,
even the hot summer sun smiled at you.

but far too silently, far too swiftly, far too suddenly
you were lost from life and from living,
like a broken mannequin, like a shop-doll,
you lay stretched out in a pool of blood,
were smashed by a careless driver,
with your hair meddled, your head askew.

My little robin, never again will I hear you chirping,
never again will the breeze blow you a kiss,
never again will I see that smile,
hear words especially meant for me

and how I wished that I could mend you,
pick you up and again put your body together,
how I wish that I could awake you from that awful sleep
and utter words that would bring you back

but at you grave I am not a relative,
not your boyfriend, husband or your lover
where I have no right or claim to you:
we worked together and to me you had been kind.

[Poet's note: "Elegy for Jane" by Theodore Roethke.]
© Gert Strydom