Grief

Time was no longer.

Like a log floating down a roaring river aimlessly without any memory

Just as its steadying, it bumps into a large rock that doesn’t belong in the river. It soon it , but as quickly through, the rivers current slows-its entangled in a mass of dead fallen leaves, a birds fallen feathers emeshing in the deadness of the earth.

Grief from the loss of a living child.
Daylight dies to the father of darkness.

People became shadows and my own voice turned inward and groaned. The weight of the pain filled me not as air in a balloon but as if I in my misery had swallowed the a stack of wordless books; still hungry and thirsty for more. The grief was still hungry for more but too tired to eat empty words.

She wailed to no-one and no-one came.

There was no more questioning because there was nothing left to question.

Still shadows moved about but were not audible or helpful

She sat for many many moons.

It has to be told she said to no-one and no-one heard.

It has to be told like the wise old telling the smart young.

Like the Oak Tree whispers to its seed.

It has to be told.

She could not wait until I was trapped in a burning house or drowing lake but I struggled just the same searching air to speak.

I see someone; she is not quite real or dead either, nor a shadow.

She emcompasses me with truth I understand and we are slowly made one.

and at the same time.

Another I see; looking up, but the higher, looking down to me.

Seeing a soul all alone, and it alone is all it sees.

The shoulders are paralyzed inward inward, then suddlenly upright.

And swollen hands molded into her head, suddenly fall to her side.

There are green trees, yellow, red then blue and birds of the same color and more but why mention what I won’t see.

Rivers run from her..not one eye but two.

and this is what I did not see but feel.

Butterflies of these colors streaming out of my ears and sometimes nose.

All around me they swoon telling me of truths that I finally did see and heard with my own self and the one that was not dead. I swallowed it all.

Other shadows that I had seen moved with life and color and I heard myself say:
“This was done to me too.”

Unexpected truths, peace and companionship were not expected but given just the same. I swallowed it all.

Together they engulf the scent of a baby’s scalp.
Memorizing it, by sight and touch and others but why mention what we cannot see.

“Do not leave us” each yearned to our own.
But no one heard.

Just as you flew away, we hear the voice of strangers shout “Here he is at last”

And they engulfed our baby’s scalp.

© Ronna Smith