I am no stranger to grief –
after all I have known love.
Just like the birch or magnolia
I grow around the dead branch
full of knots, my grain consists of dark patches where people once were
envisioned futures cut short by life’s pruning
I am grateful for it all.
The intimacy of love, the intimacy of grief
the echo of their footsteps in the hallways of my heart.
I still sing for you, sometimes
in the late evening I feel you next to me listening to the nighttime sounds
and you hum along, too.
The crickets and katydids are new of course, as time continues her procession
I live 428 miles away from the trees who used to keep us
but still
I glance over and I swear I catch it;
the humming of love.
The knot grows tender for a moment before I continue on.
The katydids and crickets will be new once more
in a year
I will have another branch perhaps, or another exit to grieve.
Oh there will be love in between, and love after too. There is never one without the other.
