The Gravity of it All

Poetry on loved ones’ passing.

Photo by Atharva Tulsi on Unsplash

Grief is a thousand silver swords
tempering the night,
splitting and slashing
through all that is light —
I’ve now only gashes for thoughts,
iron ashes inside.

Grief is a thousand longings
in flashing milliseconds, bright
laughter, joy, dreams, desires —
take flight,
aching finality, our last goodbyes
to those called home
in the deep of the night.

Grief is a thousand white doves
and soft-rounded stones,
falling 9.8 meters per second
making craters and holes —
scarring every sense of the world
I’d thought I’d known.

Gravity applies to all of mankind
in equal, measured ways;
Grief is stronger and sticks around longer when it pulls us down —
no way to rewind
no will to make sound.

© Alexandra Bragg, 2023