grounded

This is a poem that I wrote in 2015 or before. It was previously posted here and on everything2.com. I just read a blog where two hockey dads are dead of covid-19. The author is writing about grief. I wrote this when I was struggling with grief and how to really let it in.

grounded

grief is an ox
that stands in the room with me
and overshadows
everything

no
grief
is a plow
pulled by an ox
I try to guide it
in the furrows

no
grief is the heavy ground
the plow turns it
the ox pulls
I guide it
in the furrows

no
I am grieving
I let it be close
I don’t push it
in to an ox
in to a plow
in to the earth
I let it in
I grieve

tilt

I love the great blue herons on the tops of trees: they look so comfortable even when the top is leaning way way over… I am no where near as comfortable in a tree! And think of being the size of a great blue heron and landing on that tree! I have been watching them locally more and more. They look unlikely and peculiar to me landing in trees, but it’s me that is uncomfortable, not them. They trust the trees and land with confidence.