grief is a gift or a sucker punch to the throat (either way)

waiting is a ruckus
when you realize
you’re inches away
from never setting foot
on that porch

black men love
their children as
they navigate
through nightmares
resolving to be
great fathers

my daddy
he chose us
smart, dapper,
coolest dude i’ve
ever known

he wanted better
dishing out orders
like platters for
red velvet cake
he spared no

him poured into
his traveling suit
wingtips accelerating
road trip to Chicago
to break bread with
cousins unknown

so glad
songs crack my
mask, memories
flood in like
it was yesterday
am i

for my daddy


grief is a gift. there are hours, days, weeks, months when you mistakenly imagine you’ve moved on. that your sadness is dissolved. your loss resolved. your grief complete. and then from nowhere you’ll read a seemingly innocent post from a friend on facebook and it transports you right back in time to another space where your loss is more real, more tangible, than it was only a moment before. the days those moments don’t feel like sucker punches to the throat are the best days.

4 Comments Add yours

  1. heyannis says:

    “Found Poetry” that strikes a chord in all of us. For every one of us has experienced the sucker punch of grief. Thank you.

    Now YOU made ME hungry:
    dishing out orders
    like platters for
    red velvet cake

    1. Right. It was fun reading my friends’ posts. When I put them together the read definitely reflected who they are as people. But as I subtracted what I didn’t need, their words revealed me. Amazing exercise. I highly recommend it.

  2. And grief and memory visit and revisit and revisit. Love this portrait

    1. It’s something when grief shows up on an ordinary day.

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