Grief (the third movement)

To grieve is to
acknowledge the finality of loss
to face the possibility
it may not get better
you may never feel as content
as at home, as loved
as you did, there.

To grieve is to
be nostalgic for what was good;
for what never was
and never will be, again
for those missed opportunities
to speak or do that cannot
be recreated, for those
gone moments embossed on your mind
that you didn’t know
were so significant
at the time.

To grieve is to
peel back the scab of anger
reveal the weeping wound

To grieve is to
stop grasping
at hope
at salvage
at reconstitution
at straws
to give up and let go
let your lead heart pull you down
down like gravity
free falling into the abyss
into the bottomless deep

To grieve is to yield to helplessness
and that
is what I fear
most of all.

© S. Rinderle, 2016

Susana Rinderle poems

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Grief (the second movement)

Ending things
before hatred sets in
requires releasing hope
those things will improve
which requires relinquishing
another piece of that relentless optimism
that makes you
you

I believe anything is possible
What stands in the way
is their will
Since I can’t control their choice
I control mine
and choose to stay
patient
longer than reasonable

I’m not a gambler
except in this
each losing hand proof
the big win hides in the next
I’ve lost years at this table
feasting on scraps
as years grow scarce
like bargaining chips
I finally fold

Better to end things
before hatred sets in
before too much is lost
like faith and stamina
sometimes optimism thrives better
at a distance
than under constant vigilance

Life is too brief
my wiser heart finally knows
I can bear the grief
as well as I stomach the rage
and grief
is quicker in passing.

© S. Rinderle, 2016

Grief (the first movement)

It is the saying of a thing
that brings relief
The courageous clinging
to maybe not
maybe not yet
perhaps this will pass
gives way to “what’s next?”
and the icy glass wall
of held breath and hope
shatters
freeing the waters
releasing the orcas trapped
inside my gigantic fishbowl zoo
to do what they do
best
flow and roam
in their natural habitat

A year is not a mood
I look past potential
to the historical pattern
of raw material
and no
this does not work for me
now
the signs are clear
I no longer belong
this is not my time anymore
I am no longer home

We can pretend we don’t know
we can wish it
but we can’t un-know
our very glands and cells rebel
against our stubborn denial
we see the cracks in the aquarium wall
we know it’s only a matter of time

It is the speaking of a truth
that brings relief
now there is movement
now I can breathe
now I am
free.

© S. Rinderle, 2015

Grief