Lament 3 The moment I wish to speak of the one gone, that moment my mouth opens and jagged phrases stumble out, That moment we’re locked in this incoherent moment, caught in a miasma of loss, of sorrow.
Slivers of light leak in through the screen and pane, under the heavy blue curtain. In the dawning dimness, a mirror reflects partially, a half-open door hiding what lies beyond. I am alone in a strange city.
I exhale grief like smoke, On a hot summer night alone Except for emails And ads. Where is he now, body and spirit, Shrouded beyond In mysteries. I turn away, Pick up my tasks, look at nothing, and hide in darkness.
Like a sign finally read after years of passing by, turning down the path I’m required to take, asking what happens in this time called “grief”. There’s work to be done, putting a life away, hidden fears discovered, and stories told of what I was too close to see in our shared time. The busyness loosens and tasks frustrate. Suddenly I am distraught and yelling, lost ind alone, shaking in anger. Sometimes my voice wobbles and eyes tear. Sometimes I am happy in a new moment. Sometimes I don’t know who I am. Some who have walked this path tell me it never ends, but it has corners of comfort and grows less steep and rough. I want to be . . . I don’t know what this “new normal” is yet.
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” - Mary Oliver Only a little time left, to walk alone in this precious and wild world; I plan to shape and walk my own wild and precious path.
A silent cyclist speeding by;
a sudden noise in an empty house:
I am getting ready to be alone with just your fingerprints
Who suffers more, the watcher or the watched? The leaver or the left?
up the stairs; banisters help.
Tomorrows are collapsing.