The Unknown Stages of Grief – A Poem

Grief is malleable.

It shifts and moves like water through the mind.

There are steps that have been forgotten.

Grief is a caterpillar in the cocoon,

and it has to completely

lose its form and become nothing

before it takes its final shape,

growing from muck and sorrow

into a being that is able to fly away,

giving colour and hope to the sky.

They speak of denial and anger,

bargaining and depression,

but they have forgotten the unwinding,

that process of removing someone

from your very psyche.

It’s like a glass chalice that has fractured,

leaving you to remove the shards,

piece by piece.

They have misplaced balance

and so have you as you try to

find your way forward missing something

that you cannot name.

There is the unknowing,

where you look at yourself in the mirror,

no longer knowing who you are

without that person who

has been by your side for so long.

Before you even reach the final stage of acceptance,

wishfulness has to happen.

You look at photos from long ago

and you wish you could go back to that moment

when everything was fine and have no knowledge

of what would happen in the future.

The word depression is also a misnomer.

They should have called it the river

as your emotions will keep trying to pull you under the water.

That’s when you realize that you’ve forgotten how to swim.

Before you can accept your wings and stand on shaking legs,

letting the wind take you where it will,

you will also have to raise walls and boundaries

around yourself so that you will never be hurt again.

However, you will have to be careful.

You don’t want to find yourself in a labyrinth

where no one can find you and you become lost, even to yourself.

You will have to complete the searching,

making sure that the boundaries are safe and solid,

but that there is a window or two in place to let the light in

before you can take flight once more.

Birds – A Poem

He says one word to me.

“Birds.”

I’ve seen him wandering the halls

of my dreams and when I try

to engage him in conversation,

all he says is that one word.

I wonder what the word means to him,

or if it should mean something to me.

There is joy in his eyes when he speaks that word,

and in my dreams, I look to the sky,

wondering if I can fly into the blue

while I’m in this dream state.

There is a knock on my door.

When I open it, he is standing there,

a huge smile upon his face.

“Birds!” he says and motions upward.

I look up and I see that he’s ran a string along the hallway.

Upon that string are pictures of birds,

all kinds of them, hanging from that string

with clothespins, tape and paperclips.

Where he has not been able to find a picture,

the word “Bird” has been written in different colours.

In my third eye,

I look down the string and see that it leads

back farther than I can see.

I wonder if they have woven themselves

through every moment that I have lived through

and, somehow, they have led me back home

to myself to who I was meant to be all along.

“Birds!” He says, pointing at the paper birds.

A breeze begins to fill the hallway

causing the paper to ripple and move

as if the birds are getting ready

to fly.

Smoke in the Air – A Poem

“I still have that piece you gave me. You can have it back.”

It’s like I can see the words

floating in the air in front of me.

“I put your painting with the rest of the give away pile.”

I think of the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland,

how the words rushed towards her,

sent through the air like projectiles.

I’m reeling from the gut punch,

the metaphorical slap in the face.

Every piece of writing or painting I do

has a piece of me within it.

If you look very carefully,

you can see the bit of my spirit

imbibed within the ink or the paint

shining outward for all to see.

“Your art didn’t fit my aesthetic, so I put it in the basement.”

I tell them that I’m insulted and offended.

I picture my art,

so colouful and bright

hiding in the dark like I had to

for most of my life.

“I don’t understand why you’re upset over this.”

I try to tell them why,

that it wasn’t just art to me,

that I had given them a part of me,

and that part of me was meant for them

to fill their home with light.

“I think you’re projecting your anger onto me because you’re angry about something else.”

I stare at the word cloud

as the consonants and vowels take shape

above my head and I do

the only thing that I can think of doing.

I wave my hands in the air to clear the smoke

before the letters can

choke me and I start to believe

their words.

An Ocean of Time – A Poem

When we met,

I knew that you had lived a life

beyond my understanding.

There was a wisdom in your eyes

and time immaterial moved within.

When you spoke to me,

it was with the voice of authority,

assurance and knowledge.

There came a time when you read my words.

When you had finished,

you looked at me with those eyes

that contained time itself

and you told me:

“You should never apologize for being yourself. I’m glad you chose to live your life.”

I remember how you looked at me that day.

Though there was an ocean of time between us,

in that moment, I felt you understood me.

Now, knowing that you are gone,

I will remember your advice to me,

your words etched into my mind.

I will raise a glass to you

as I look towards the sky,

hoping that I can somehow

see through time.

Sunlight Through Leaves – A Poem

I

am tired

of looking at life

through the branches of trees,

both my captor and my saviour.

However, it is only when I am here

that I’m able to look up and see the sun

shining through the leaves and I realize that

life shines brighter in the dark so I can

always

find my

way home.