grief – Page 2 – Carrie Birde

Ask… — A Poem

IMG_20200422_090512_056~2.jpg — “Nightstand” — C.Birde, 4/20

Ask

something concrete…

What books I’ve accumulated,

over the past five weeks –

eight, thus far:

three new; five used;

two classics;

one not yet received.

(Ask

for an illustrative

Venn Diagram.)

Ask

if the stack on the nightstand

leans –

those Dead Girls & Cousins

& Innkeepers & Unicorns;

the modern-day Persephone;

the House of Tremontaine

& Castle Gormenghast

all listing crookedly,

patiently,

waiting for Wintering.

Ask

how much I read –

two paragraphs each night,

maybe three

(the stack could last indefinitely);

a comfort of words,

in self-prescribed doses.

Ask

the tangible, the specific;

I’ll answer eagerly,

each query a forbidden fruit –

tart, acidic, honey-sweet.

But please –

oh, please –

avoid the vague,

the nebulous,

the hazy;

do not disrupt

this tenuous balance;

do not ask me

how I

am.

— C.Birde, 4/20

Specific Grief — A Poem

Reservoir in Pollen.jpg — “Surge” — C.Birde, 4/20

For You…

Each time we meet,

that specific grief

and I,

in some unexpected

curl of psyche,

it is always,

ever,

and again,

as if for the first time.

Like the rasp of thorn

or briar on skin

presumed whole,

unmarred,

unbroken —

fresh surge of pain;

scarlet bright.

When we meet,

my grief and I,

old friends reunited,

we embrace –

awkwardly,

so carefully –

and, as one,

we weep.

— C.Birde, 4/20

Thought — A Poem

“The Reservoir” — C.Birde, 4/20

I give my thoughts,

at dusk,

to the reservoir,

where they

sink &

settle &

thin

like dream,

like life.

— C.Birde, 4/20

Exposed — A Poem

“Exposed” — C.Birde, 3/20

What shape

will healing take

and when might

the wound

reknit?

Reinforced with

steel & stone

Shattered glass

Crack’d bone

O,

nest of moss &

neatly woven

grasses

exposed to hope

to love again,

receive

us.

— C.Birde, 3/20

Passing — An Image

“Passing” — C.Birde, 2/20

“Wait…”

Years compressed

into months,

shrank

to days.

“Would you

deny

my departure?”

her words chafed

with fatigue.

“No.

But I wish

it were not

so

soon.”

— C.Birde, 2/20

Sudden Exit — A Poem

“Snowdrops” — C.Birde, 2/20

For Lydia

When the day

has slipped,

and all its

burdens –

large,

small,

soul-expanding –

are set

aside;

when sleep

arrives –

calm or fitful,

dreamless or

dream-full;

when the new day

dawns and

the world

(having fulfilled

its obligations)

continues

its slow,

unbroken

revolution;

I will carry

your absence

forward,

always,

in my grief-

softened

heart.

— C.Birde, 2/20