The poem that the Oracle sent is one I don’t want to publish.


She sent we words that made me weep,

and I kept them secret and safe because


I know who they were meant for,

and we drink from the same fountain,


she and I, the one who sorrows

and the one who stands apart


with empty hands, unable to

mop up the ocean of her tears.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

22 thoughts on “Words”

    1. I’m okay thanks. My uncle’s funeral was yesterday. Because of restrictions it was just a handful of immediate family and a service of 20 minutes. I know I wouldn’t have been able to cope with any more than that. Nothing I can do either.

      1. Harder in the sense that we can’t go through the traditional motions, but possibly easier in that there isn’t that clustering of condolences from people who aren’t really close, and when something like losing your partner happens, I imagine you just want to go into a corner and weep.
        Thanks for the hugs 🙂
        Trixie is taking it easy, regaining her strength, but she’s out of the woods, I hope.

      2. Yes, I thought of that, too, with my mom–like I didn’t have to make sure I had something to wear for a funeral and listen to people–but at the same time, I couldn’t be with my sisters or children. I’m glad Trixie seems to be doing better. 😀

  1. This alone is enough to make me weep. I feel like all the deaths shrouded in enforced distances now are accumulating in an endless vale of tears we will never escape. (K)

  2. Sadness and an aim to protect are both rife here. The poem is moving, like the water in the fountain and the ocean. As you mention in a comment, it does bring to mind the play by Synge, lyrical and tragic.

    1. Synge was an astute and poetic social commentator, about people who weren’t even his. The proof that we’re all the same beneath the decor, and we belong where we want to belong.

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