thursday, december 18

tuesday morning i left the room
just before my grandmother took her last breath
to call my father
i did not say what i should have
come now, as fast as you can
but i could almost not speak
and i was afraid
that somehow she would go on like that

grief is not a flowchart process
acceptance is a word worn empty by repetition

you can try to turn love aside,
break it into pieces that won't burn so much
or cut so deep
but it waits in everything

all of us broken, fucked up, failing
sometimes whole by whatever grace
we know it or we should
for once i do, and i am not sure what is left
but gratitude for all this that's never enough
and somehow has to be

tags: topics/poem

p1k3 / 2003 / 12 / 18