After Grief

Donna Freeman

October 20, 2022

Every year

everything

I have ever learned

in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side

is salvation,

whose meaning

none of us will ever know.

“In Blackwater Woods,” Mary Oliver

Grief grows like some wild weed,

overtakes the promise of spring crocus.

Even the smiling sunflowers

that dared to hope

now lie flat

letting ivy creep its way

inside every thin crack. 

A wooden floorboard

thought so stable

scrapes now hollow.

Someone in this small room

dares a breath,

a molecule of air,

invisible it disappears.

So rare, scientists

name it Caring. 

You left me.

I don’t know where you’ve gone,

have no map,

nor faith I’ll find one.

I see you,

your green eyes,

pupils so big

they must have known,

but you didn’t tell 

what was to come. 

Somehow, I remember life,

the feel of you pressed to me.

It was a summer day.

I don’t remember when.

Donna Freeman started writing poetry at age twelve. Her poetry appears in Wilderness House Literary Review, Blue Lake Review and Ocean State Poets Anthology: Giving Voice. Donna's poems were selected for RI Public's Radio "Virtual Gallery" and for ekphrastic shows at Imago Gallery and Wickford Gallery. Poetry is her passion.