A nod to Emily Dickinson
I measure every Grief I meet
I know they all felt like mine
Some smaller some larger,
Yesterday, I got a text from a friend
Her exact words.
“my daughter got shot to the head
Last nite die@ a visual
At first, I didn’t know what to make
From those few words .. I later
Reach out to her, but she kept
Refusing my text or call
Which is understandable,
in a times like these
Is pain ever going to get old?
Is man ever going to stop the violence?
Would all of these weapons going to be around forever?
Why does it hurt so much to alive these days?
Are we going to run out of words to comfort each other?
First thing I read this morning, on the net
“Headlines.... a young mother abandon her newborn in a New Jersey Restaurant
It might seem heartless to some, somehow, without doubt
that young mother was afraid for the life of her newborn
What future does that child have,
What future does she have?
I measure every Grief I meet
Death is something we can’t smile about
*“The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.” *
― Alan Wilson Watts
I took this line from Emily poem
to end my version of this piece
And though I may not guess the kind –
Correctly – yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary – Emily Dickinson
Grief, guns, torture, survivors, daughters, abandon, babies