A Letter from Lucy Adibe

If pain is a river,

And we have to learn to swim,

To spaces it chooses,

Then should time not be given—

To pack your bags,

To wear a swimsuit,

To check your map?

A deep inhale,

Then exhale.

A letter written to express intent—

To recognize what has been left behind.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

To contend

With this feeling,

To take each memory as a fleeing note,

To know the skin, the voice, the touch—

Relived in thoughts and dreams—

Could never be made flesh again.

Then, would it not be fair

To cast your voice out the window,

With the stars and sky

As witnesses to

This final chance:

To accept what has to come?

A silent voice,

Pouring to the wind—

The words that must be said: Goodbye.

And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.

If the currents are rushing,

And we have to learn to swim,

Then the absence of a lesson learned—

Of the water filling your belly,

Hands and legs cast aside,

Helpless,

In warfare that answers from your guts,

The deepest screams and the

Hardest cries,

Mirroring from your insides.

So, you hear it,

And feel it—

The cold,

The numb of time,

Its hours and days

Emptying itself from your very within.

Then shouldn’t its very lesson

Have been taught,

Even before we knew

To say our name?

And there was evening, and there was morning—the second day.

Yet,

In every memory lived,

Is an anchor cast.

The secret

Was never to swim,

But to drown right from the start,

In the beauty and pleasure

Of every single day together—

As a brother,

Sister,

Lover,

Friend.

To savour its splendour,

And to remain in its depth,

To fill your lungs

Till you are breathless,

And not cast a shadow or doubt

To beginnings or endings.

You see,

This river

Was never made for us to swim.

To taste,

And believe,

Needs all of our surrender.

To see an end

Is to recall a beautiful

Beginning.

God saw all that he had made, and it was very good.

If there is a river,

Then by its edges

Are horizons for your feet—

In layers,

Soon revealed.

Just as:

God saw all that he made,

And it was good.

---

In Loving memory of Grandma, Lucy Adibe (1922-2020)

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