no quick fix

Too small, he moved too much,

each leaving wound

a spring tight in his chest,

hair-trigger snares 

like nightshade sown

into a fruited soul.

Then he turned five

and sprung a leak,

unwinding wounds we

hoped were healed,

now tripped and spilling

purple down his shirt.

We keep him still,

or try, by clumsy hand

to mind and tend

the tender places,

blindly pressing 

band-aids over broken bones.

painting grief

They put her ashes
in the ground today,
my grandmother,
and I didn't cry.
The eulogies were stirring
but my eyes dry,
no tremble in my voice
when I stood with
my sister and sang.

Hours later now
I sit by myself
in the art museum
around the corner
from the church.
Where the words and
music of the
morning failed,
the lines and light
of the artist
succeed.

Undone, I cry
grace for the sinner
whose tears are too late.

for jana, on rhododendrons and grief

That they will curl,
brown at the edges,
loosen from their moorings,
and then drop
silent
(crushed) --
they are no less
beautiful
perfect, precious
for this.
It is a story the
flowers
live a thousand times
like tiny test cases,
showing us death --
yes. But
then:
resurrection
again and again.

grief relapse

I cried for Grampy again today, and then for Grammy too.

I read about someone's grandpa falling and breaking his hip; the writer was wondering how to bathe her little boys with their freshly-made bodies, while her grandfather lay in the hospital, broken and in pain. How to live without forgetting one in the presence of the other. I don't know.

Here I am in a noisy house tripping over these small, perfect people. Kissing my husband in the kitchen while I stir the food on the stove like its nothing. Forgetting.

But can we even remember without collapsing under the weight of it? I maxed out at five minutes, took a shuddery breath, ate a piece of chocolate and went on with my life. Why can I do that?

Because today I'm not listening to the clock tick off the seconds, wondering if they bring me closer to or further away from the part of me that is buried on a hilltop across town.