The last days
have felt
like my shoes were on
the wrong feet,
like the stuck wheel
on a shopping cart
or the rattle at the front end
of the car
that has to mean something,
if I could figure out what
I can’t for the life
of me
understand
why words won’t come,
why they feel so heavy and slow,
why they sink
beyond my grasp
why I resist
taking the time to
sit in my
own self
to figure out why
And then
I check the calendar:
tomorrow
Jess would have been twenty
And I know
I’ll have to
write of her
tomorrow
And I know
tomorrow
I will
stop
sit
sink
And I know
my entire self
will brace
against the pain
against the keen muscle memory
of grief
my breath will catch
to feel it sharp, sharper
without knowing how
or when
or if
it may subside.
Soapbox: The Way I see Things 
Lainie…is this your gorgeous niece? I feel the heavy ache of the muscle memory, the paralyzing slowness of your grief, and how the words hesitate to roll; when they come, they may flood like tears, with some measure of release, and maybe a bit of healing also. I know how the loss is there, rattling… love and prayers to you, my friend, and all yours, as the day comes.
Thanks, Fran. It rattled, it shook, and it thankfully settled-ish. It’s strange that my dread at coming up with a poem right now has actually opened up a new path of healing for me – which was unexpected but entirely welcome. ❤
We dread the pain, the poking at the hurt place, the restirring. Writing, maybe poetry especially, is like rehab after a surgery or accident…back to that muscle memory imagery you incorporated so well! It hurts but the stretching helps heal – yes.
This is such an emotional piece, Laine. It started with mundane things that we worry about but ends with this painful reflection. Writing can be healing, I’ll be reading Day 3’s . You give so much from your comments, I hope you receive all the warmth at this time, too.
Thank you. The last few days have been a wrestling match, for sure. I appreciate your warmth and support, Juliette.
“And I know
tomorrow
I will
stop
sit
sink”
Sometimes the only way to swim through the waters of mourning of to let oneself sink into it for a moment, sometimes a long one, before we can rise and break the surface. This was poignantly writ and I felt it deeply.
Thank you. ❤
Love, love, love.
I’ve sat and stared at this comment block for a long time, and I have no words to say other than I’m sorry for the loss of someone you love so much. The love you have for your Jess and the pain you’ve experienced from her passing doesn’t simply shine through your words, it blazes. I am sorry.
Like I said. Sometimes words are weird. They just don’t do the trick. So…thank you.
I guess what you truly feel goes way beyond even these profound words. Writing helps take away the sharp pain, but the dull ache of loss remains, I suppose. Prayers for Jess!
Thanks. Yes, grief comes in so many shapes and sizes and feels…
Yes, and you realize it never really goes away completely; it stays behind in different shapes and sizes and feels also…. 😦