What my bones know about grief is—
We were made for this
We are made of this
We are rock and we are stream
We are grasping and we are longing
Just as we are allowing and loving.
We are marrow and we are air
These bones and this grief
Bones that seem solid
But are moving
at their core
and at their skin.
Nutrients exchanged despite
the hard outer surface.
Both necessary—
These bones and this grief
This strength and this synergy.
I missed this at the time you published, just before Harvey’s birthday. I guess catching close to your Papa’s birthday is important, too.
I am taking in by the flow of this poem.
Love you!