What to say when you have lost
A brief homage to a phenomenal woman, the recently parted artist, Magida Hyatt, the mother of beautiful poet, healer, singer, and world-mover Deena Odelle Hyatt.
This is nothing.
This is an attempt at something.
This is a prayer for believing.
This is a holy valediction for leaving.
This is the arms that are so so far from where they should be.
This is the arms that will open to you so very soon.
Deena, daughters everywhere,
All that I know how to say
Has turned to birds inside my throat.
They will fly in a new formation
Taught by the reconstruction of your own winglike hands
Fluttering over death
With more love and grace than I have ever seen.
If I could cut open the king’s pie
And let all those starlings loose into your sky
I would do it.
But all my knives have turned to tears
And salt is a luxury we don’t have time for
In this post-war post-truth poster-child post-bomb kitchen.
So I’m going to keep singing your name and your mother’s sweet name
Tasting the droplets of fearless fire
I’ll keep savoring them forever, if I’m honest.
Because her greatest work of art
Now makes art beside me
And that keeps me hungry
All my love to you on your birthday and in your grief, see you so soon sweet Deena.