by Ellen Peckham

This Sunday morning
given to translations
I find myself in tears
reading a poem of my own
but experienced afresh in Spanish.

It recounts elements of your death
that having, I thought, at last assimilated
I can speak aloud in English.   But find,
memory resurrected, an effigy
newly delivered.

The force of words,
music and cadence,
reintroduce emotion in unfamiliar context.
Pain, yes.  But not unwelcome.