you could say we lost our child
or heaven gained an rogue, or parents’ bodies
doubled and shaking mimic the broken stalks
of a species native to hell, or say Christmas
cards languish unpenned
in shamanic silence, tucked
in a box of locks
you can say we gained a PIN code
pecking out grief’s numerology, attached
to every account, every transfer reborn
and wet like fine hair freshly emerged
but, whatever you say, say enchiladas
are still enchiladas, and music
is still loud enough to stir the ash
and see the moon and say, “the moon!”
say statistics are coughs, and say we
are side-eye dancing, glancing
into oblivion, you could say
when hands are held tightly
to keep ourselves up, it’s the guts
that punch back, or you
could say that is a bold face
for a lotus in December
or heaven gained an rogue, or parents’ bodies
doubled and shaking mimic the broken stalks
of a species native to hell, or say Christmas
cards languish unpenned
in shamanic silence, tucked
in a box of locks
you can say we gained a PIN code
pecking out grief’s numerology, attached
to every account, every transfer reborn
and wet like fine hair freshly emerged
but, whatever you say, say enchiladas
are still enchiladas, and music
is still loud enough to stir the ash
and see the moon and say, “the moon!”
say statistics are coughs, and say we
are side-eye dancing, glancing
into oblivion, you could say
when hands are held tightly
to keep ourselves up, it’s the guts
that punch back, or you
could say that is a bold face
for a lotus in December
_________
Wow a poignant powerful gut punching poem
ReplyDeleteDespite the innate seriousness, I find this adorable! Such original ideas, such lovely use of language ... even the serious message. Thank you for writing and sharing this poem.
ReplyDeleteI agrees with Rosemary. There is a really compelling whimsy here, even with the very serious theme. From time to time I think about how best to mourn the ones we love. And I always land on some sort of variation of find something that resonates both with who they were and who we are. I feel like there may have been a shared sense of whimsy between the speaker and the lost one, which adds an extra nuance of bittersweetness to their memory.
ReplyDeleteI read it as intense. Losing a child bites. If this is about real people I hope they really are recovering enough to punch grief back.
ReplyDelete