11.24.2021

grief might be easy if there wasn’t still such beauty

Finally fall. 
At last the mist, 
heat’s haze, we woke 
these past weeks with 
 
has lifted. We find 
ourselves chill, a briskness 
we hug ourselves in. 
Frost greying the ground. 

Grief might be easy 
if there wasn’t still 
such beauty—would be far 
simpler if the silver 
 
maple didn’t thrust 
its leaves into flame, 
trusting that spring 
will find it again. 
 
All this might be easier if 
there wasn’t a song 
still lifting us above it, 
if wind didn’t trouble 
 
my mind like water. 
I half expect to see you 
fill the autumn air 
like breath– 
 
At night I sleep 
on clenched fists. 
Days I’m like the child 
who on the playground 
 
falls, crying 
not so much from pain 
as surprise. 
I’m tired of tide 
 
taking you away, 
then back again– 
what’s worse, the forgetting 
or the thing 

you can’t forget. 
Neither yet– 
last summer’s 
choir of crickets 
 
grown quiet. 
 
listen to it here 
 

No comments:

Post a Comment