grief and patience {poetry thursday}
grief. over the last year and a half, this has become a theme of my life. the deep, wide, gut-wrenching reality that grief invites. and one of the ways i am healing (also known as "holding it all together except when i am not and am instead knocked over only to realize i am not alone on this path") is reading poetry (and writing a little as well).
one of the poets who has spoken to me in the midst of this journey into poetry as i travel through grief is marge piercy. earlier this year, i checked out her book Colors Passing Through Us. in this collection, she has a few poems that whisper about her experience of her mother's death. this line, from "The day my mother died" stopped me right where i was and i recall sucking in my breath as i read it out loud:
That day opened like any
ordinary can of tomatoes.
so much said in these words. with this line, she evokes a kinship with people who have lost someone. yes, an ordinary day. that suddenly becomes something else entirely.
visit this page from The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor to read the all of "The day my mother died." (OH! and please note, this page loads in an odd way. the top of the page is basically gray and blank, but don't dispair, just scroll down to find the poem.) if you click on "Listen" under the date on this page, you can also hear Keillor read this poem (just keep listening, he does read it, but it is toward the end). as jon and i listened to this tonight, i turned to him and said, "i kind of want to curl up inside his voice and take a nap." i love listening to him read. and now that i know you can hear him read all these poems he posts at this site, i am going to try to listen to one a day.
i will visit this week's Poetry Thursday prompt at some point in the future. just not in this post. i am learning the valuable lesson that even though you want to finish a poem, it might want to sit a bit longer and unveil itself to you over time. so the poem i planned to share is doing that right now. we are both learning patience.
on grieving (and healing), poetry
Reader Comments (31)
Have missed you....
This post so touched me....it spoke to my heart and soul that is aching right now.
I too am trying to learn patience with my writing...decided to sit with my writing...
I enjoyed this poem and hearing his voice.
Love to you
thank you for sharing the link with the poem. It was a hard poem for me to read, but I'm glad I did.
I send a big hug from Seattle to Tacoma(I think) to you.
I'm looking forward to seeing the poem - I really loved hearing your voice on the poem you read - it brought the poem to life for me - I could listen to it over and over at the end of a busy day. I just know all the tension would just seep away in a most wondrous way!
like a can of tomatoes. so powerful. and just like the day her mother died, the grief will plunge its way back in with the simplest of tasks, like opening a can of tomatoes. your journey through this has been heart wrenching, beautiful, telling. and sincere.
I wanted to call you after reading this, but the baby has been very demanding and I couldn't seem to get a chance to....
This post really resonated with me this week and I wanted to thank you for touching my heart once again...
love and kisses
beautiful choice liz...ah, the many lessons of grief...