I think my heart is broken
It hurts me all the time
It stutters when it should thump
Crackles like safety glass
My right knee is numb
along the right side down
from owl to beanstalk inked in black
And green, and yellow.
Is it possible to have psychosomatic symptoms
if you’re aware of them?
**
I sat in my Comet (Mercury Caliente, 1965. Sublime)
for hours, for days listening to a’ha
Take on me
He surprised me with the cassette tape only
days before his death. I wore out two copies
but only kept the one.
I always cry when I hear it.
Pavlovian response, or grief?
***
I’m several days without crying
And can’t figure out why. Days at the beach
Love, and love and love.
A raven whispering messages, and
quorking on the deck.
Superheroes viewed from recliners,
in the dark. Dinner out. Sangria. Cake.
Happiness is as strong as grief.
****
I see a picture. Tears come
buckets. A whole sea of them
My heart is broken.
My knee is numb.
I am happy, still, sometimes, in any event.
Modesty Is For Suckers 
Such a powerful poem. I feel it in my chest. I’m sitting here crying. So sad for you. So grateful for our friendship.
LikeLike
Oh, honey! I hate making you cry! I wrote this last week and scheduled it for today because I wasn’t sure I wanted to let it go live, then forgot. Oy. Gotta stop doing that.
LikeLike
Beautiful emotions spelled out in words, by a very loving and strong Mother. Thank you for sharing this with us! Hugs!
LikeLike
🙂 Thanks, Bev. Once again, I wrote this and forgot I’d scheduled it to go up sometime in the future. LOL. I really need to stop doing that.
LikeLike
Don’t stop…..just let them go live. They are always meaningful and beautiful !
LikeLiked by 1 person
Grief startled me yesterday,
A flicker from the side, like spotting a spider intent on its own business
At the intersection of its world and mine.
The moment gave me pause
To remember.
And so I walked again on old paths, watered with new tears.
And yet there is still Katharsis
Though my grieving self would dispute
My thinking self knows the truth.
And that, too, is part of the gift.
Loss is a spiral upward for the lucky and the strong.
Tears will dry faster than memories fade.
All is part of the gift.
LikeLike
((((Mark))) The master of soothing me with words. Thank you, darling.
LikeLike
Beautiful. Reminded me in its first question of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s recent commencement speech, in which he relates a story about his shoulder, which was just what you described – physical pain caused by stress (in his case). It reminded me in its effect of one of my other favorite poems about grief (not an oxymoron, though it should be), “Michiko Dead” by Jack Gilbert.
Michiko Dead
BY JACK GILBERT
He manages like somebody carrying a box
that is too heavy, first with his arms
underneath. When their strength gives out,
he moves the hands forward, hooking them
on the corners, pulling the weight against
his chest. He moves his thumbs slightly
when the fingers begin to tire, and it makes
different muscles take over. Afterward,
he carries it on his shoulder, until the blood
drains out of the arm that is stretched up
to steady the box and the arm goes numb. But now
the man can hold underneath again, so that
he can go on without ever putting the box down.
LikeLike
This is so beautiful, Kelly. So simple and practical, and so full of courage. Thank you so much for sharing it with me.
LikeLike