Night Visitors

Margie visited last night.
She brought dozens of playful friends
To entertain and illuminate
Her lonely mother's spirit.

Tentative, at first, not wishing to scare,
They hid just out of sight.
Then, gradually they came into view.
Their intense light filling the room.

White, blue, red, and yellow, too.
Colorful moving shapes dancing
And playing for me.
Then, they fade from view.

A filmy gray shape floats
Through the room.
Deep black shadows change forms.
Moving closer, then away.

At first, they frightened me.
But Margie was there I knew.
Ma, open your eyes and spirit to our dance.
I did. It was heavenly.

I suspect that Ma, Dad, Grandma Bo,
Jack, Ted, Dolly, Agnes, and Sue,
Maybe even baby sister Maxine,
Made the visit with Margaret.

Come again, my night visitors.
Come to comfort or play,
Or to share your wisdom.
Your presences sustains me.

Teach me, guide me along
The healing path filled with
Pure love and endless joy.
Perhaps, I will dance with you.

  - Shirley Pierce Bostrom, October 17, 1996
   (This event occurred two months after Margie was killed.)

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A murderer was born this day.
A fact that would be proven so
in less than thirty years.
Did anyone know or even suspect?

Amidst the revelry and good wishes
for health and prosperity,
life was full of promise.
could the evil spirit be imagined?

Carefully disguised with dark curls,
and equipped with instant charm
he allured and delighted.
Was any father or mother ever more proud?

When sister Michelle was born
she learned quickly that Mitch,
the son, was the families shining star.
Did she sense a dangerous presence?

When boyhood fiends played football
before the cheering hometown fans
or gathered in their secret hiding place
did they see the cruel side of Mitch?

College friends warned Margaret,
Stay away, Don't date him. He gave the
last girl who broke up with him a hard time.
Why didn't she listen and live?

On July 30,1994, their wedding day,
they smiled brightly, hugged, and kissed.
Who could know or even suspect
this love would lead to her death?

She told, me, her mom, He broke the bedroom door.
He took Calie and Sebastian,
and he didn't even like Calie.
Why did he have to hurt me so?

She'd have a lawyer get Calie back.
She'd file for divorce--start life anew.
She liked herself--was strong enough to break away.
Why didn't we realize she was in mortal danger?

He called me, twice the week he killed her.
Said he loved her, but guessed it wasn't enough.
The call comes--She's dead--stabbed thirteen times.
How did I know he did it, not some prisoner?

We travel to Pennsylvania, see the FBI, Calie, the house,
and the already cleaned white bathroom where she died.
Stunned disbelief. It can't be real. She's not dead.
How can life go on without our Margie?

He put the knife in the sink, called his mother, then 911.
There's an arrest, hearing, arraignment, and bail is denied.
He pleads not guilty as we sit and wonder.
How can he deny he did this awful deed?

October 22,1996 he's sitting in a jail cell.
I hope he's thinking of what he did to Margie.
Sorry I didn't feel like sending a card.
Is it a happy thirtieth birthday, Mitch?

  - Shirley Pierce Bostrom, for Mitch's birthday

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Evaluating Pain

A childless friend used to tell me
How painful baby showers were for her.
She mourned what she never had.
I didn't understand--still don't.

I felt your tiny fingers grip mine.
I nursed, bathed, and held you.
Watched you grow, looked at your beauty,
Marveled that I had given birth to someone so lovely.

I laughed and giggled with you--and at you.
Scolded your thoughtless and careless deeds.
Took pride in all you accomplished.
Our futures appeared long and bright.

Which is worse? Her pain or mine?
Neither --just different.
I'm fortunate for "it is better to have loved and
Lost than to never have loved at all."

But there will be no more happy memories.
No more long talks, or hugs, or kisses.
No more honors gained or goals reached.
No more tiny fingers--I'm just beginning to understand.

  - Shirley Pierce Bostrom, April 28, 1997 and January 27, 1998

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In Her Image

The huge brown eyes
looking into mine with
such love and devotion
are Margie.

The tilt of the head,
the ears alert and waiting
for my welcoming words
are Margie.

The sleek and slender body,
the long, lean legs
bringing her toward me
are Margie.

The curly wind swept hair,
the limbs eagerly embracing
me with affection
are Margie

The slightly raised lips
in the smiling face
caught at play
are Margie.

The pleading head on my lap,
the awareness that she'll
get what she wants
are Margie.

The golden retriever called
California Girl, Calie for short,
and the spirit within
are Margie.

Her mistress, my daughter,
a victim of domestic violence,
shares her love for us
through Calie.

  - Shirley Pierce Bostrom, September 1997, Revised 1/23/00

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Spring Writing Retreat

I'm not going to write about you this weekend.
I'll dwell in my childhood--innocent and happy
Near my dad and ma, the hemlocks, and river.
Unaware of the pain I feel today and everyday.
Hopefully--a brief respite from present reality.

Other writers talk of their youngest children.
Agree these offsprings exhibit unique personalities.
I'm silent--it is the kind thing to do.
No need to warn them to celebrate their bounty
My presence is reminder enough.

The sign says, "This cemetery closes at 5 PM."
I drive in seeking solace and a private place to grieve.
Soon, I'm followed and told, "We're closing now."
I glance at my watch and leave--it isn't even 4 PM.
If he knew of my loss would he care?

I visit a shrine, sit in front of Jesus.
He says, "Come unto me."
I can't. His retribution for my sins is too cruel.
Recapturing the peace I felt in his care isn't possible.
A loving God could not be so merciless.

I walk among the yellow daffodils.
Soak up the new green growth of spring.
Breath in the bright blue sky.
Pain, my constant companion, loses control.
I must enjoy this moment for two--Margie and me.

  - Shirley Pierce Bostrom, April Retreat/1997

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