This Now The dog snores.The coffee colds.The heat whirs. Pope JoanHestiaSappho and Marguerite Porete await my attention.The journal pulses. Death is open-mouthedswallowing anotherbody into its belly depth, darkness:the hold before a new birthing untangles into thelight. Grief is agrotto we slink into – weep, laughsigh, sleep. Ourflushed cheeks press againstseashell walls.
Tag: grief
POEM A DAY – February 26
Writing The Novel, Year Three You realize that all the characters in the novel you’ve been writing are parts of You. You realize that healing is spectral magic sifting through the fractures you’ve suffered into as you breathe, breathe, breathe through this living we mash up with the hammers of time. You realize the air… Continue reading POEM A DAY – February 26
Love as Activism
Today marks the fifth anniversary of my Nonna's passing. My tummy has been in knots all day. My guts toiled in memories. Today is the last exam for my daughter; her eleventh grade year concluded. Today my son will attend a funeral for a classmate; a bright, compassionate, kind light of a human who passed… Continue reading Love as Activism
When The Words Don’t…
There are many sounds at a funeral. Last night, I heard bursts of laughter, whispers between colleagues and friends. I heard noses blown and one chorus of "Hallelujah' (by Leonard Cohen, performed by Jeff Buckley) when for a few seconds, a soft silence filled the room. The room was filled with people for two hours… Continue reading When The Words Don’t…
VANESSA SHIELDS 