On loss and love, again and again
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Thank you to guest writer, Sarah Waggoner, for these two poems. Sarah lives in Nashville with her husband, Luke and her almost 18-month-old, Maeve. Becoming a mother has cracked her open, exposing her to new heights of joy and depths of grief. She is grateful to be shaped by both.
What Would You Have Me Do
What would you have me do
with the brick in my chest
the tender bruise pressed over
and over
The leaky faucet of heartache
the unrelenting reminder
drip, drip, drip
They
Are
Gone
Would you have me
fold it up neatly
pack it away
so as not to offend
shelf it for another day
What if I told you
that grief can be boundless
that it can swallow you whole
Drip, drip, drown
You might say, “I’m sorry.”
and I would have to thank you
Amid my ceaseless,
silent
scream
You Were
You were like a flower
not yet unfurled
remarkable in all your promise
tender in all your delicacy
You were like a dream
I awoke from
too early
I closed my eyes tight and tried
to go back
You were like a song
whose first note pierced my heart
whose lyrics stumbled so sweetly
on the tip of my tongue
You were like a breath
I was too scared to take
I rationed small inhales
To try and keep us
afloat
You were like the moon
on a cold, clear night
illuminating the winter-void
uncloaking a hidden world
unto itself
I cried out
upon daybreak
when I found you
had gone