Feb 2021
This grief, it won’t leave, it chases me, grabs my ankles,
pulls me to my knees, stalks me during the day,
crawls into bed with me at night,
nudges me if I dare to doze off
quickly reminds me,
I’m alone.
And I reflect on the bazillions of dead humans since the beginning of time, the ancient dead, the war dead, the innocent dead, the dead killed for land, executed on gallows, exterminated in gas chambers, extinguished in death camps, do they await my grief, hide in my bones, live in my heart expectant my dormant grief will find its way to the surface, to respect the lives they once lived?
But I’m a twenty-first century dweller with my postmodern nonchalance intact, moving, using up, basking in the labors of the dead, a sleepwalker on stolen time, gravely in need of self-compassion, dodging the inborn sorrow cut into my heart, while the dead are forgone, they are not forgotten, they form a double square knot no one can help to untie, as their own knots tighten in witness of mine.
Now widowed, my despair dodger foundation shaken, a real life reality lands, no longer a *****, pills popping, *** smoking, TJ Maxx consumer, game plan to avoid sorrow like a plague, the cultural norm, “let the dead bury the dead,” no, it’s not happening, why, because my grief never died, sure, it was buried, but it was buried alive, and now the chickens have come home to roost.
pulls me to my knees, stalks me during the day,
crawls into bed with me at night,
nudges me if I dare to doze off
quickly reminds me,
I’m alone.
And I reflect on the bazillions of dead humans since the beginning of time, the ancient dead, the war dead, the innocent dead, the dead killed for land, executed on gallows, exterminated in gas chambers, extinguished in death camps, do they await my grief, hide in my bones, live in my heart expectant my dormant grief will find its way to the surface, to respect the lives they once lived?
But I’m a twenty-first century dweller with my postmodern nonchalance intact, moving, using up, basking in the labors of the dead, a sleepwalker on stolen time, gravely in need of self-compassion, dodging the inborn sorrow cut into my heart, while the dead are forgone, they are not forgotten, they form a double square knot no one can help to untie, as their own knots tighten in witness of mine.
Now widowed, my despair dodger foundation shaken, a real life reality lands, no longer a *****, pills popping, *** smoking, TJ Maxx consumer, game plan to avoid sorrow like a plague, the cultural norm, “let the dead bury the dead,” no, it’s not happening, why, because my grief never died, sure, it was buried, but it was buried alive, and now the chickens have come home to roost.
