calling all sinners
December 2, 2019
a moment for grief
September 30, 2020

a swelling inside
barometric pressures shifting
and nerve endings
stand to attention
headaches and heartaches
and womb aches
and the desire to dance
and surpass myself
all in the same moment.
Morning is holding on
to night dark longer
than last week
and wisps of cold air
spill over the window sill
onto my Augustine adapted
bare feet
that take a slight umbrage
at the sudden cold.
an invigorating subtlety
Summer making a soft
inviting Autumn to
tea each morning
and evening
so the two of them can
share the news
important updates
and we,
the children
can get re-acquainted
with our new
My inner almanac
sensing the change
to come
and the way
September has always felt
like the start of the
new year for me.
A wheel that I dance
over in my mind
a yellow brick road
around the seasons
something from childhood
maybe it was the start
of the school year,
the cobblestone path
I walked to get there
and my delight
in falling leaves.
my new year
is upon me.
A swelling of emotions
connected to
an ache back date
the anniversary of my
father’s death
and I am preparing
perhaps better able
to contain
the fullness
of what has been lost
of what I struggled to find
and still struggle to find
within the oblivion
of grief.
A year of losses
an echo of losses
and the many gifts
that also came to my door.
Not to be weighed
on the balancing scale.
Not to be seen as
‘equaling out.’
(can we please STOP
with that toxic shit?!)
Simply to be acknowledged
as vastly different
running concurrently
in my experience.
They were both substantial
the grief and the gifts
and also
how grief enters
at the moment of death
of severance
of the end
of the goneness
of a beloved body
in which you poured your love
and CRUSHES you
under its weight
like a boulder
cast off by the
You are
Alive but
And all you can do
is sob for hours
and days
and months.
how this became
my occupation.
my new identity
the sum of my days
Crying and crying
I was a river
of salt water
the whole ocean
one drop at a time.
Not sure
I would survive
being the vessel
of this grief water.
the water
it was moving upon
the rock
my mineral rich
memory holding tears
wearing it down
its weight on me
not as crushing as before
and the soft sand
that has formed underneath
and all around me
cushioning and supporting.
Sand from the rock.
The grains of memories
of cherished moments
of love that was worth
every instance.
Every endurance.
Every ounce of the
how sand catches
the light
in glints and shimmers
these sparks of evidence
a billion witnesses
of my grief
and the gritty
mysterious and
dependable way
erosion happens
making heavy things
an internal storm
barometric push and pull
grief and love
longing and impermanence
knowing that the leaves
will fall all around me
very soon
inviting me in
to death
as cycle
as integral
as the container and
the catalyst for
as they have been
every autumn.
that Autumn and
falling leaves
feel different to me now.
The strong impulse
to bow down
and touch the ground
they rest upon.
To acknowledge
a certain kinship.
For I have died
a little bit more.
The cycle is
in me now.
And I am