It interests me
this letting go

done at the height of vulnerability
or perhaps these are depths

why would a friend walk away
when I cry

when I have lost a financial battle

and in the past
the weekend my sister died

friends come
friends go

do not take it to heart
when they go

I am not lying to myself
that this person loved me

and left when I was in the blue deeps
left me additionally shattered by going

they tell themselves and others
too emotional too dark too dramatic

and I am startled out of my grief
to more grief loss

death is final
but I can talk to the dead

when the living have left
there is a gaping wound

Beloved comforts me
and it is not about me

they tell themselves and others
but they are running from their own

depths, grief, emotion, darkness
they cannot stand by me in darkness

I forgive again
and I am content

alone with the Beloved
in the depths

and there is such beauty here
if my friends were still friends

I could show them the pearls
in these deeps

  1. How long ago did we meet?
  2. I bought an Android
  3. After your boss told me
  4. My iPhone was useless
  5. Foolishly I hung onto it
  6. Brought it back to life
  7. Breathing talk and text
  8. Into my rose colored box
  9. Was that your idea?
  10. Or mine? 
  11. There is a picture here
  12. Of my oldest daughter
  13. That makes me cry
  14. I have some cash now
  15. But it is a small pile
  16. I was in love once
  17. Yesterday I saw him again
  18. Will you become irrelevant?
  19. While I unravel like yarn
  20. Missing a set of needles
  21. Twisting into primitive knots
  22. I need to do my own thing
  23. Love means letting go
  24. Therefore I shall
  25. Disregard this memo
  26. Apparently it was meant
  27. For someone else.
  28. jessicaj
  29. P.S. I forgive you.
  30. Treating myself kindly
  31. Will be much harder
  32. Thanks for the pink shirt
  33. Your turquoise tie 
  34. Changed my life
  35. Silly me. Lonely you.
  36. But we'll get through
  37. Somehow...
  38. Xoxo, j

Last Autumn, I gave several of my husband's dress shirts

and plaid flannel shirts to our grandsons

who seemingly have become young men overnight.


I threw out worn T-shirts, keeping two

for cleaning rags that have grown smaller and smaller

as the bleach breaks them down to threadbare.


It's a gradual letting go which I've received

unasked for advice regarding the timing

from both strangers and family;


as if they do not know why some days

I'll wear one of his dark Hawaiian shirts,

black with Escher-like goldfish;


as if they do not understand why some nights

and days I've worn the last pajama bottoms he wore,

his name in black indelible ink on the tag.


Yesterday, I gave our older son an Alpaca-lined

black raincoat that was his father's, only

missing one button and him inside it.


They say grief is a process; they just don't tell you

the smallest details, like what to do with his single socks

or a hole at the toe that breaks my heart unexpectedly.

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