Thomas Dorsett

In Memoriam: David Diorio, 1925-2022

Part of me died today, in other words,
a friend. Maybe two fingers, as it were, hanging
stiff and useless from my right hand: so many
fingers already gone! Yet I still grip my pen.

Death is part of life, he said; yet thrive,
become life’s play of light and shadow;
even if you limp, walk on.  Think Think
Think Think, but don’t bash in your head!

Dave’s wife, a poet and friend, died in 1997.
After twenty years of widowhood, he
passed away in his sleep, age 96.
I wanted to call him the day before he died,

but didn’t. Busy entropy was quicker.
Time made speech and walking difficult;
yet his mind remained sharp to the end.
He left behind loving kin, and many friends.

He said he accepted entropy’s
devastating changes. Despite them,
life goes on; light goes on, he said,
within and without us, perhaps forever.

Despite silence, despite sorrow, I want
to hear an anchored angel sing him to his rest–
Faith turns her kaleidoscope. Pieces fall into place.
Everything is quiet.  I hear him yet!

Editor’s Note: David Diorio, (1925-2022), was well known to many members of the Greater Baltimore poetry community; he arranged poetry readings for several years. His wife, Margaret, who died in 1997, was an accomplished poet. Dorsett read this poem at Diorio’s funeral.

© Thomas Dorsett

Examples of Thomas Dorsett‘s poetry have appeared in over 500 literary journals, including ConfrontationSouthern Poetry ReviewNorth Carolina ReviewThe Texas ReviewPoem, and California Quarterly. He is the author of a number of collections as well. In addition to being a poet, a translator, and an essayist, he also has been a medical doctor for many years.

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