For Simeon Wesley Seinen, my son (09/30/81 – 03/19/04)
was a return address
encoded in the cells
dividing in the dark,
encrypted in his DNA
or in vibrations of soul
inviolable like You?
Was there a safe arrival? Can this be tracked?
is he weighty now
and real, glorious and strong
as I have so hoped every day all along as I miss him, our Sim
miss every moment of him
from the sweet creaky rocking
and symbiotic stilling of his hungry wailing
to those first-snowfall calls from Detroit
just a few months before he went silent
and I went from then on
by believing, tentatively,
that nothing – no beauty, no goodness, no joy – could be lost forever,
that forever must hold it
and there it must be, please,
that he lives.
Some twenty years later, Sim’s silence still sweetens
the dark, early hours of my days, this ancient worn mother
whose heart fills with wonder at stars, wind and thunder
and all that I’ve seen of Your ways.
The words that You cried from the cross as You died,
reverberate louder than loss.
Finished! Christ cries it.
Death? Christ defies it.
Resurrection. New Creation's begun.
Nothing that’s ended is done.