Speaking of Grief - Sept 11 2021

 

Speaking of Grief

Sept 11 2021

There are many ways to talk about grief.

Which sometimes isn't enough

and only shouting does it.

At other times

it's a grimly set face,

a clenched fist

the sound of something breaking.

Or a body walking aimlessly,

as if its bones had softened

and muscles wasted.

The semiotics of suffering

no words required.

Then there are the thoughts

circling madly in your head

that aren't spoken at all,

ruminating

litigating

casting guilt or blame.

No one gets through life

without it.

Most cope.

Some get overwhelmed

and surrender to despair,

either sleep-walking through what's left of their time

or taking theirs.

I suppose the strength comes

from survival,

the thousands of generations before us

who persevered

through their own ineffable sorrows,

passing on the bedrock hope

that let them carry on.

Time heals, or so it's said.

Like a cauterized stump

grief hardens to a scar,

sometimes visible

but often not.

Is this why we get slow

as we get older?

Stooped over

with rounded shoulders,

losing height

as if bearing some unseen weight,

and taking short stiff steps

as if our aging joints

had lost the smooth glistening sheen

of youthful buoyancy.

Why our faces express

lives lived

through incremental loss.

Permanently etched,

so that when we talk about grief

or even smile

our wrinkles harden

crows feet deepen,

frown lines speak for themselves.

It's the anniversary of 9/11, so I'm hearing and reading many sad stories from that day 20 years ago. I also just read a review of a new movie version of Miriam Toews' novel All My Puny Sorrows, which is about grief and suicide and getting through it. So today, a poem about grief seems the most natural thing.