Riddles were not shaped to die young—
a hurricane that rips through an apple orchard in May
shreds trunks, shrivels roots, splits hearts,
scattering limbs that leaves
blood spilled on grass and shoulder and tarmac.
People were created to kiss, to dance, to laugh,
to grow old like the live oaks in Georgia
that weather the storms and branch out to each other
supporting, holding an arm, twisting together
never to be undone.
Malachi Martin met his Maker on August 19. To Lucy, my dear sister, and Daniel, we grieve with you. May the Father continue to carry you.