Keith Flynn: Granularities
Each organ seems like a streetlight in a neighborhood
viewed from the mountaintop at midnight,
going out slowly one by one. “It’s all downhill from
here, Son,” he tells me, “‘til I hit the bottom.”
Daniel Lawless: The Gun My Sister Killed Herself With
Was a cubit long and weighed half as much
As an average newborn U.S. baby.
Judith R. Robinson: I Apologize
My own people, once stalwart as the stars,
must now weep as we, their stunning progeny,
disappear like shadows
into the cracked cement of sweet America
William Wordsworth: Surprised by Joy
An elegy for Wordsworth’s daughter Catherine, who died in 1812, aged three.
Jennifer Franklin: As Antigone (2)
For as long as I can remember
my mother told me how
I should feel, what to eat,
who to date, what clothes
looked good (and bad)
on my shape
Tony Gloeggler: Hardly Talking
I’ll give up and lie,
promise, that yes, his friend
will be back tomorrow.
David Hassler: Vocata George
My clamped jaw, in its extreme symptoms, is like a fire door, a castle gate that has slammed shut.
Diana Raab: Lessons from My Grandmother
I was ten years old the morning I found my grandmother dead.
Jennifer Franklin: As Antigone
I will not walk away.
The moment the nurse
pressed your splotched
body into my arms,
your needs fixed my fate.
David Kirby: More Than This
you three must be thirsty,
come in and get a drink, and the cowboy says okay,
but what is this place, and the guy says it’s heaven
Barbara Edelman: White-Throated Sparrow
Though she is dead
she is buying me a car
and this buying makes her happy
David Hassler: Intensive Care
Children under the age of fourteen weren’t allowed in the ICU. I was eleven, and my brother was thirteen, but no nurse or doctor was going to stop us from seeing our mother.
Valerie Bacharach: Chaos
There is no word for parents who have lost a child. Our language is chaotic. We are not widowed or orphaned. We are without, we are incomplete.
Nneka M. Okona: The Imposition of Black Grief
For Black people in the United States, grief and loss are intertwined with our very being. Our ancestors knew the trauma of loss intimately…
