A Different Kind of Grief

". . . I really feel like I'm grieving."

I kept looking at the text, flipping it over and over trying to remember what I lost. What have I really lost? I have my life, my health. I still have my family, although they are not all in the same state. The pieces that are most important are still in place.

But Cailin was right. I am in mourning. I mourn my lost weeks of college. I mourn lost productions, lost moments laughing with friends, lost bad choices, lost choices to make. But most of all, I mourn any resemblance of solidity and certainty.

So here is a poem I wrote last year about grief. I wrote it about the passing of my grandmother, but I'd like to believe—

No. I need to believe that what I've lost due to COVID-19 has an afterlife. It can be different, and it will be. But there has to be an after in addition to the now.

Until then, I hope this can provide some peace. Stay safe.

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Grief Has Feathers, Too

Seagulls don’t show up

In old photographs.

Too heavenly for lens halos,

Too white for burnt sienna,

For dust flecks,

For cat-eye specs,

Forgetting that photographs

Become box fillers

And coffee coasters.

No, they transcend two dimensions,

Oceans, great lakes,

Cigarettes and conch shells,

Brushing wings with sterile mist

And whispering “I waited”

To those left.

He left.

She got left behind.

When Grandma died,

She had waited

For him

Fourteen years

In tidal waves.

Staring into the absence

Of the dashboard clock—

On the day

The earth opened

To take her back—

Vultures didn’t greet the dead,

But two sea birds

Playing airplane over fields,

Corn tassels grazing their breasts:

An epitaph to say,

“She never flies alone.”