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

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.

an instinctive tap

finally quiet i’d watch sunset outside my kitchen window. cold beer and pen posed over an open journal. incomplete poems littered every page.

swashbucklers, ramble rousers, voyagers galore

hot summer rain, steam streams off side walks and the hard concrete of a 12 by 14 front porch. broken drain becomes Niagara falls, though we have never seen it. pictures from mama’s Britannica are all we need to know this is what it must look like. “Monsoon,” he screams and we laugh so loud…