In the space between birdcalls, in the fading,
after laughter, three sisters talking over coffee,
voices like ripples shimmying light. Glance away
for a moment. Look back: even the cups and spoons
have gone mute, the afternoon resonant with a shimmer
like hummingbird wings. Memory cannot whorl
the air with stilled voices. Ripples glimmer and fade.
Austin International Poetry Festival Anthology.
Fourth Place: Christina Sergeyevna Awards
A Note About the Poem:
The title is my favorite line from Shakespeare—Hamlet's dying words. The three sisters are my mother and her sisters. Mother was gone by the time I wrote this poem—so many things I had taken for granted, irretrievable.