As grief dissolves, a shadow falls
eating at a corner of the moon.
It is green still and time slides
by as the earth moves. I remember
the way we used to walk
in the old neighborhood, the experience
of it, strain less tug of our childhood,
always looking ahead to the what-
happens-next, eating tortellini out
of ceramic bowls.
This last summer, I was awakened
by an owl asking, who, who.
I mistook the call for a dog barking,
but it was a dream interrupted –
I considered the call, the sound
of its wisdom. I still don’t understand.
I try though, taking mental notes
in art galleries, contemplating the
inner wilderness. A woman found a snake
in her toilet in Alabama, the news
reports. Not long after I flew over
where a hurricane passed,
explored the blackened beach. I
secretly loved it, the pollution
coughed up by the sea, how nature
corrects itself, without you or me.
Red Tide, they call it. When the power
went out, we all laughed.
As my grief dissolves, the full moon fades
like a spell.
Author note: Collage poem arranged from journal entries during the year 2024. The fragment, “as grief dissolves,” was taken from Arther Sze’s collection, The Glass Constellation, as a source of inspiration for beginning.
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