Two poems, grieving

The other day I told my partner I didn’t think I was a poet anymore—I thought maybe that was just for a time and now it was time to do something new. And he said, what are you talking about, you wrote a poem yesterday. And I had. I think these poems feel different to me because they are processing things in real time. They feel less like art and more like moans. But he’s right, I do keep writing poems. So for now I guess I’m still a poet.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedReprieve

The last time I saw you
The time before that
The time before

How far back do I have to go
To find a memory that isn’t sad?

Today I think of you
But I am sad for another reason.

Meanwhile, unrelated, the Canadian wildfires
color the sky a greyish orange.

And I would like to be happy
I would like my world not to break with every small fear
I would like to have a reprieve from death
From every past and future death

And just be happy
Here, in his arms.

~

Welcome

Your spirit is not a stranger here on this earth.
You are one of many whose hearts are broken.
We recognize each other by our furrowed brows
the subtle redness of eyes that can’t stop crying

And, oh, yes, the jagged gash across our chests
the open wound that never heals
Rachel weeping for her children
and your children
and the children we once were
before we learned about inhumanity—

Welcome to this place of mourning.
Welcome to this place of desperate hope.

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