I miss you in the cliffs that fall away
in echoes to the mottled, tumbling sea.
I miss you in the sky that presses low,
dark clouds of grief a weighty repartee.
I miss you in the driving of the rain
that chills your hillside gravesite to the bone.
I miss you in the afternoon’s fierce wind,
the light that fades and leaves me here alone.
I miss you in the haunting of the hours,
the days that spark and die without your voice.
I miss you in the midnight and the dawn,
the noontime and the dusk that bring no choice.
I miss you in the spring that bursts and flares,
its colors like an anthem played to grace.
I miss you in brief petals and bright leaves,
the flower that too quickly bends its face.
I miss you in the life we did not live.
I mourn you in the past that could not stay.
I grieve you in a future gone too soon.
I seek you in the spring light gone to gray.
Lisa Suhair Majaj is author of Geographies of Light (Del Sol Press Poetry Prize winner) and two children’s books, as well as creative nonfiction and literary analysis. She co-edited three collections of essays on Arab, Arab-American, and international women-of-color authors. Her writing has been widely published and translated into several languages, and appears in different venues, including the 2016 exhibition Aftermath: The Fallout of War—America and the Middle East (Harn Museum of Art). She lives in Cyprus.
on Greg McBride