memoir, The Blog of Missing

The Blog of Missing: 346 Days

As promised: (see full poem and original post under the link)

Merrit Malloy, author of the poem, The People Who Cannot Say Goodbye, writes,

“There are people who cannot say good-bye

They are born this way/this is how they die

They are the keepers of promises/what moves them does not wear out

Their loyalty will tear apart your clocks….”

My 28-year-old son has been missing 346 days. He didn’t say goodbye, and at this point I am afraid he is dead.
I’d rather think that what moves him “does not wear out,” that his “loyalty [would] tear apart [our] clocks.”

Malloy writes,

“These are the people who can hear the music in songs

They are the Vow carriers

The grandmothers who always leave the porchlight on

No one is lost to the one who sees….”

I am the one who cannot say goodbye.
It is I  “who always leaves the porchlight on.”
Is it my loyalty tearing apart clocks?
Can I tell you how much that sucks?

When I first read this poem, I thought this was about my son, but I see it is about who is left behind.

Am I not lost?

 

Lyrics
Mother don’t worry, I killed the last snake that lived in the creek bed
Mother don’t worry, I’ve got some money I saved for the weekend
Mother remember being so stern with that girl who was with me?
Mother remember the blink of an eye when I breathed through your body?

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten
Sons are like birds, flying upward over the mountain

Mother I made it up from the bruise on the floor of this prison
Mother I lost it, all of the fear of the Lord I was given
Mother forget me now that the creek drank the cradle you sang to
Mother forgive me, I sold your car for the shoes that I gave you

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten
Sons could be birds, taken broken up to the mountain

Mother don’t worry, I’ve got a coat and some friends on the corner
Mother don’t worry, she’s got a garden we’re planting together
Mother remember the night that the dog got her pups in the pantry?
Blood on the floor, fleas on their paws,
And you cried ’til the morning

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten
Sons are like birds, flying always over the mountain

Written by Samuel Ervin Beam • Copyright © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc

 

More poems from Merrit Malloy here: https://merritmalloy.wordpress.com/

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