Remembering at the end of time

 

Queen Anne's Lace

 

You ask me what is the last thing I will remember
when—if—I have time for recall as I exit this world.
And I don’t know.  I hope I'll be surprised.
 
I can guess at the first things I’ll remember, though,
as they have centered me most of my life: Queen
Anne’s Lace, for example, with their tiny purple middle.
 
They're always the first flowers I think of before
apple blossoms, peonies, lilies of the valley,
hollyhocks, wisteria, lilacs, azaleas, brown-eyed
 
Susans, and roses. A riot of colors, perfumes, and
insects come among these angels of the land,
and I welcome them in the heat of the sun.
 
And then the trees I’ve hugged, including apple,
sycamore, and pine trees—especially the climbing
tree, a white pine shaded deep in Grandmother’s woods.
 
I’ll remember family and people I worship with and 
those with whom I build beloved community.
The taste of the food—both potluck and hosted.
 
I’ll remember hearing poetry readings and poems—one
or two of my own, Mary Oliver, and snippets from
Shakespeare, Piercy, Angelou, and others.
 
Ah, the good trouble I’ve been part of!   The spirit
of hugs, kisses, handholding, and laughter among friends.
All that reminds me more exists than this world.

For Sherry's prompt "The Last Things I'll Remember" at What's Going On? 

 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Silent worship

 

acorn

Slip into a space of waiting
and becoming more and more aware
that we are part of creation’s plan—
from the hardest to the softest
structures, breathing and not. 
Feeling the more we are part of,
beneath the shuffling and coughing
and traffic noise and breathing—
Feeling the way down to the seed
listening there, listening.
Or
not letting go of the world—
not even for a moment—
the silence ringing with
deaths and destructions
the heart cries out against.
The mind circumventing the help
of the forest and the gathering
of seekers near us, silent,
reaching down, each 
both alone and together
ready to break the silence
of being a bystander to oppression
and violence.  Wishing to be ready.
Grateful for those who speak.

For Sumana's prompt "Silence" at What's Going On? 

 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

To my dearly departed cat Mariah

 

 

I still expect to see you
when I unlock and open
my door, and so I do see you
drifting around the corner
of the brown couch,
a black shadow
leading me to where your
supper bowls used to be, 
and then disappearing, my dear
swift-as-the-wind Mariah.
 
I talk to you, words lost in emptiness. 
 
I watch TV news without
your purring companionship
under my left hand. 
You used to sleep all day
except for this shared time,
and then slept beside me in bed. 
Your sweet warmth is gone.
The plants miss you, too,
you, your teeth, and your
company on the window sill.
 
Visit as often as you like.
You’ll always be welcome here.

For Mary's prompt "Lonely" at What's Going On? 

An earlier draft is below, and comments are at the end.  

[Don't feel you have to read the earlier draft. It's for me to come back to.]

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

[The First version: About my last cat Mariah
 
I come into my apartment expecting
to see the swift-as-the-wind black cat
Mariah, who died 2 weeks ago of cancer.
That’s not right.  She died by humane euthanasia.
 
Because she had cancer, I paid a Lap of Love vet
to come to the apartment and administer
two drugs—one for buffering pain, one to stop her heart.
 
Three friends did a small ritual before she died. 
We held hands and talked grief and good memories,
and sang:
Mariah comes from the goddess and to her she shall return
. . . . I let go in love so you can cross the rainbow bridge . . .
Kathleen’s poem reminds me of the blessings
of light, darkness, the void, and death. 
 
I come into my home expecting to see
my swift-as-the-wind black cat called Mariah
And I do see her drift around the corner
of the couch.  A trick of the light?  imagination? 
 
I feel the wide-open emptiness of the cat-less space.
I talk to her, but sit on the couch without
her purring companionship under my left hand,
and watch TV news alone.  I can hardly focus
on the reports, so shaken am I by her absence.
I see her again out of the corner of my eye.
She’s asking for treats, she’s leading me
To her matching supper dishes that I sold
at this week’s art sale.  I didn’t cry at her funeral
but I find myself crying now when I call her
to lie down with me when I’m ready for bed
but she doesn’t come.  She flits in and out
of the rooms I walk through, trying to be
there when she cannot return to this life.
Her presence touches deep into my grief
and it draws my tears.  It is a precious gift,
her drawn out farewell. She knows I miss her,
She heard the ritual with her song, and she heard
The words of “The necessary fecund dark”
And she knows I know why she didn’t eat
for 10 days, how she was preparing to go.]

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Two lights

 

source

twilight
two lights
not half light
but double light
a holding together, a junction of radiance and absence of sun
the length of a memorable hug at 40 degrees North
when we two are together
and there are no shadows
a promise of becoming vine and tree
of give and take
becoming tree and vine
kissing in peace and unafraid
twilight, two lights
the length of a Christmas gift
as night falls, as day comes
hearts beat like soft drums.

For my prompt "Twilight" at What's Going On? 

 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright

 2025 Susan L. Chast 

Resistance

I remember standing on the street and reading the names
of the United States dead during our aggression in Vietnam
until I fainted.  When the police van dropped me off
at the emergency room, a policeman called me “commie hippy.”
 
I remember demonstrating against every war and act of aggression
since then.  I called it peace work. 
Peace work was resistance in many forms, none of them violent.
Sit-ins, sit-downs, stand ups, stand between, stand with.  Voice.
 
Sit—stand—walk--pray.  Resistance rose out of the body, flowing
from the heart with the strength of courage.  Its energy drew
resistors together for safety in numbers, for multiplication of power,
for support of those willing to be arrested, waiting to be arrested.
 
And now, we seem to be at war again—against Venezuelan fishing boats
said to be carrying drugs.  We’re bombing them out of the water.
We’re killing survivors.  We’re blocking the country’s airspace.  All
while pardoning convicted drug kingpins from other countries.
 
And this is my resistance.  Only these words in this poem—
Political and personal.  I’m not sure where else to stand
to resist the folly of this government willing to endanger
all of us for a few more gallons of oil, a few more bars of gold.

For Sherry's prompt "Resistance" at What's Going On? 

 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

To have no fear

 

Picasso, The Youth Circle, 1961

Once upon a time I had no fear
Running was a galloping horse in wind
My mane of hair flowing behind me.
 
Now it takes courage to walk and climb stairs
Moving forward is a snail in a headwind
My head bent over so I can’t see.
 
I am old.  My fear is a soft wariness,
but for too many people, fear is hard,
walking takes courage, and risks death.
 
I ask, for me, what takes more courage:
joining street protests or staying indoors?
One endangers me, one leaves me all alone.
 
I stay home where teams write letters.
and I write poems. Both take courage
not to censure, but to trust the power of words.
 
To send them where they need to go
despite the streams of too many words—
blogged, streamed, performed, printed.
 
Courage comes from cor, or heart in Latin.
I take heart, then, that words of care will
march into the front lines from home.
 
I pray that words will remove 
use of weapons, killing of children,
scarcity of food and water, and rape of earth.
 
I pray words help children run like the wind,
but in play, not in fear.  I pray that people may
walk freely and fearlessly over the earth.

For my prompt "Courage / Fearlessness" at What's Going On? 

 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast