Tag: grief
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Walking Her Bicycle Back Home, Alone
Oh, child of mine, I’ve come back toreclaim your most precious thing from that blue ravine off the stone road.I lack the steadiness and pulse of movementto ride it home.So, I walk it back totally alone now,remembering those first unsteady lessonsuntil you found the perfect balance to peddle this silver dreambeyond my steady support.I will…
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At Sunset
Your death must mean just enough not to curse the day you were born,to stand by the water’s edgeand not want to swim with stonesuntil the first dark wave takesme under in a fetal pose,sinks me down in the last breath,the clear waters almost your ghostpushing me back, allowingme to walk away.Of course, I will…
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The Cursing Stones
Ariana, adopted the old Greek ways, when Nikos died diving for sponges. She encased her curses into two lead stones: smuggling one into his coffin, dropping the other into Naxos deepest well. She made sure Nikos soul would carry her curse to the underworld before it ascended to heaven, or activated fully on the river…
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Pieta
Perfection can only be seen in the descent, the glow of spotlights colliding to true whiteness, the realization that grief touches the ground. Mary, they say, you never experienced birth pains, but the linen folded eternally beneath your son shows that his final blessing transferred all to you. Your tears wash his feet,…
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Soft Body Memories of Our Grief
We exist in unkeepable bodies and in the bending over we decompose for we are are but the memory of grief that soft bodies leave when they die.
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Underwater
I am Jonah in the belly of Leviathan living only when the beast surfaces, exchanging liquid grief, heavy air for the unwanted gasps of new life. I pray out of this belly for gills and only the ocean hears my voice, It deepens and encompasses me, its waves billowing me in absolution. The…
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Diary of Your Last Breath
December 3, 2019 She was displayed before me with her eyes closed and mouth agape, leaving me to wonder whether she died in terror or awe. Was her last breath the honest gurgle I’ve been seeing for the last few days, that I took comfort in hearing restart every time I called her name…
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Grief Is Everything and All
My grief is stillborn, not consoled by the hope of replacement of another good little boy or girl with brown paws and a gentle lick, another Anne or Tom with eyes that cry of heaven and a bright mind that can write lines of cerulean clarity or calculate pi to the twentieth decimal, a wife…