Crannies and nooks

 

What am I even grieving? My words can't

quite explain,

as most everything is different, but all has 

stayed the same.

 

My mind is such a jumble as 

my heart learns how to grieve. 

They say that grief just slams you, which feels

easy to believe. 

It looks like guilt or shame or pain, it 

has many a hue.

Today I wore my mom’s old blouse and her 

cute green socks too,

her cross necklace laid round my neck, her 

freckles dot my face.

My sharp wit is a gift from her and so is

my embrace.

 

She lives in me in little ways–dark 

chocolate, hikes, and books.

Her spirit still surrounds me, 

filling crannies and small nooks. 

I see picture after picture,

and let go of my pride,

struck by how little I knew mom

who fought so hard, but died. 

I must hold onto memory and 

love her as she was,

a vibrant, soulful being, not a 

corpse turned into dust.  

Two long years of dying though,

my picture of her faded.

Being human is this tension–

joy that sorrow has shaded