Remembrance

In this house grief dwells,

An unwanted boarder that follows me

As I turn on lamps to chase away the lingering night

I feel its breath upon my neck, its long fingers clutching

While I wash the breakfast dishes and clear the kitchen, memories

Stick like yesterday’s words, like a song I heard in 1970, Like the moment you were born,

Like your little fingers circling mine.

It watches as I sweep the floors,

Put away books and papers and pictures

And start the day’s laundry. Grief is in no hurry;

It can bide its time and wait to strike when some little thing,

A button, a photo, the cutting board you made when you were seventeen

Tears an opening in my defenses.

In darkness I draw the covers over my mind

And flip the pages of the photo album of your too-short life,

The recording of your voice, the unending video of your death in snow and ice

I replay over and over and over.

Grief does not sleep, it is never tired

Or weary of its singular pursuit. It will be here as long

As I draw breath, as long as my heart knows you and remembers,

As long as time.

Here is where grief lives;

There is nothing that can be done about it.

It is, and that is all.

 

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.