Rains come, pounding rooftops,
saturating every inch of soil
down to the deep.
Water creeps under floorboards,
pours past garage doors,
gushes into low-lying collection basins.
Bridges connecting small
country roads turn impassable,
the ones aging at the bottom
of mountains near abandoned
Grief is a sister to flood rain.
Holding hands, they roll
over restraining walls.
Together they stream, surge, cascade —
out over the land
of the heart, into valleys
of the mind, through the dark woods.
Grief is love uncaged —
overflowing, endless love.
Grief is love realized and released.
Grief is love let free.
From 100 Words: Small Servings of Whimsy and Wisdom to Calm the Mind and Nourish the Heart, (Balboa Press, 2018). Posted by kind permission of the poet.
Here is the landscape of my son, prying open the horizon with his grin, of…
Yes there is fear. Yes there is isolation. Yes there is panic buying. Yes there…
Walking the river back home at the end of May, locust in bloom, an oriole…
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