May 21, 2021

Grief, COVID-19, compassion.


I grieve alone before dawn, when my valley is still quiet beneath the blanket of darkness. I stare into the last fold of night until the face of my late son becomes clear, and then I listen until I can hear his voice again, And then I allow myself to break down, to fall apart. For a long time I counted the days since his death. Now I count the years.

-jobe


COVID 19, the voices, it can bring tears to hear them,

Those voices from China, Italy, Spain, and New York.

We can’t breathe, we’re dying…

The struggle, the final gasps. The passion for life.

And the rest of us here, learning to grieve

For thousands of people, just like us.

Those we have never met.

-jobe


With compassion in one hand and kindness in the other, let me work.

-jobe


LINKS -

Ren Powell

Bait the Lines

Hardcore Zen

haiku eye

The Urban Mermaid

HOOT, a monthly literary magazine on a postcard

The Slowdown

clay and branches

THOTPURGE

Summer's End

Medusa's Kitchen

The Middlewesterner

The Morning Porch/Patio

VIA NEGATIVA, purveyors of fine poetry since 2003

thanks/jobe




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