Sometimes one reads a bit of a poem that seems to express so precisely what has been experienced that it begins a search to track down the entire poem. A few days ago a friend/distant cousin, new widow, posted a bit of a poem on Grief by Peg Runnels on Facebook and I found it all and am sharing it here:
I want my grief
Like Mozart. Or Stevie Ray.
Like fireworks. Boom! Flash!
Ooh, ahh. OK, done. Let’s go.
I want my grief to be brave.
Grandma said, pouring salt
On a skinned knee.
I want to stand up to grief,
Tiny man, big tank
In Tiananmen Square.
Because. Because if I am brave,
The tank, the bleeding, the tears
Will stop sooner. I tell myself.
But grief laughs. Humbles me.
Asked at CarMax Why are you
Selling this car? I burst
Into an embarrassment of tears.
Grief has you.
We wrestle, to the mat. I’m pinned.
But sometimes I break free.
Start to write myself a new story,
To fling myself toward yes,
Begin to say, Oh. Now this. . . . Observe
I’m not wrestling grief,
So, I put my right foot in . . .
And turn myself about.