Note from Amelia: An early part of the apparitions project involved collecting the poetry and photography of other talented writers and artists to share as part of a greater anthology. This component of the project didn't quite come together for many reasons, but I wanted to share the finest work Jonathan and I received as part of our celebration of the book's publication and this incredible year of poetry. I'm sharing this spring and summer series alphabetically by last name. Today's achingly poignant poems, "Ghosts" and "Her Song," were written by my mom, Louise Masino-Cotter. I think you'll see where I get my knack for poetry. "Her Song" is one of the best poems I've ever read. My cousin Chris, named for our Uncle Chris, even has a tattoo of it. I believe that once you read it, you'll agree it's a masterpiece, too:
(for Amelia)
The wounds of the past will not heal over.
Instead they are forever surfacing, haunting me.
There is no relief from the pain. Nothing can
Free me from my sorrow.
I have always disliked afternoons, the long, wretched
Stretch of day after morning has ended and night is
Yet to come. I associate afternoons with loneliness
And loss, pain and a longing for something I cannot
Put my finger on. I do not like afternoons for the
Same reason I cannot, at times, stand living within
My own skin. I am unable to free myself from either.
Should I ever take my life, it will be in the afternoon.
--
Her Song
(Written January 22, 1993, for Chris, who died March 11, 1991.)
There was a voice so sweet, it called to me
A voice so pure and light
It awakened me from my turmoil
And drew me to the night
Reassuringly, it told me, why
Soon you will be free
Just a moment of pain, now come along
And we’ll walk to the tree
Soon you will be free
Just a moment of pain, now come along
And we’ll walk to the tree
There was a voice so sweet, it sang to me
And promised my soul to keep
It soothed and lulled and rocked me
In its arms I wanted sleep
And promised my soul to keep
It soothed and lulled and rocked me
In its arms I wanted sleep
Like a mother the voice did cradle me
And shushed me not to cry
From the rope I knelt and settled and
In her arms there I did die
And shushed me not to cry
From the rope I knelt and settled and
In her arms there I did die
"Ghosts," and "Her Song," copyright 2022 Louise-Masino Cotter ("Her Song" previously published in Way of the Word Limited First Edition Anthology, 2009)
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