Something very interesting is happening. During the process of grief, I realized that I’ve started writing poetry—something I had never done before. This is only the second poem of my life.
What feels strange is that when I write prose, I think entirely in Hungarian, my mother language, and then automatically translate it into English in my head as I write to you. But when I write poetry, the words come to me immediately in English. I don’t know why this is, but it is what is happening.
In Hungary, there is a saying that someone lives as long as there is someone who remembers them. Well, while I am alive, Ellise, my baby dog will always be remembered. I will spend a lifetime remembering her.
It’s almost over, don’t look down
It’s almost over, don’t look down.
Repeat directions in the dark.
Resist gravity; it’s not that hard.
We’re flying above all the blood,
the tears,
the black, hollow mourning,
and we call it ground,
even though it was never meant to stand for us.
Hold my hand, please, and hold it hard.
Keep me strong, try to keep me warm,
We both understand that I don’t fear the fall.
It’s almost over, don’t look down.
I see the distance, I hear the sound,
an invitation that knows my name
and says it the way it was always meant to be said.
The depth is calling with a voice I recognize.
Down there, there’s more of me than what I’ve left behind.
The air is thin where we pretend to stay.
The sky is only another delay.
Nothing honest left to remain.
I crave more belonging than this careful breathing,
more silence than all these conversations I have.
Can’t hold the weight of empty words anymore.
I adore the sky, even the sky is on fire tonight,
look how it stretches time without offering direction.
And circulation keeps going, a loyal machine,
a fake pulse without meaning, a vital sign,
proof of function without proof of a life.
It’s almost over, don’t look down.
Admit that I have already drowned.
I just did it slowly, and so polite,
I still kept smiling when you said hi.
You are breaking upward toward the light,
But all I hear is the echo of that sound,
All I see are the ones I once loved.
It’s almost over, don’t look down.
I tell myself one last time.
(Poem 2, in loving memory of baby Ellise)
