Hard to know what to do with this grief,
the branching out, spilling over
when there is sun at my window,
the sway of summer’s raucous green,
a ripple that moves through me — rune
for momentum, forward thoughts, even
this joy I have learned to tend
with obstinate vigor, the faithful
work of loving what threads each day.
But always there is room to be
surprised, to stumble into a memory
that begs for one more scrap.
Sometimes, it is a conversation
I will never enter, two people on the street
sharing a dream of us, a look
on the television that sees through
to where your sorrow couldn’t go.
Then there is now, nameless, fathomless,
rising up to fill my throat.
Grief, I say, come in. Sit down.
I have tea. There is honey. This
will take as long as it takes.
The Traveling Light 
Oh, Naila …
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Wrapping you in a giant hug and so much love, Marge.
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as i sit in an almost empty room, cup of tea beside me, last moments of living where i have loved, fought, laughed, and cried, your poem is a welcome honey in my cup.
thank you dear friend. it is almost time to sit at the lake together. it is almost time to say goodbye to this house. i remember you sitting with me talking and dreaming into a new day. xoxo
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Ah, my beautiful friend, I miss you. This note…I can envision it all and I bless all that your heart is holding, all that wants to be let go and all that you get to keep. I cannot wait to sit beside you at the lake and listen to your journey. I love you.
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