Sunflower Poetry

Grief stalks my memories, my dreams.
When I find a tender place of remembrance
it wanders in with a dark shadow of pain
that pinches my nose, fills my eyes with tears.

Grief makes it’s self at home in my wishes.
How can I warm my self in nostalgia with
it’s cold touch running down my spine?
Reminding me I’m not just grieving what was.

Grief pulls threads and tugs on scars.
Bringing memories of what was, coloring
them with the longing of what never
can be. Could never be? Only imagined.

Grief whispers, “What do you miss most?”
And teases me with fragments of memories.
Touches my hurt with a realization.

I miss being their someone. I miss the stories
we only knew, the memories we shared.
I miss being their someone. I miss them.

I miss being her daughter. Her granddaughter.
His best friend. Her friend. Their someone.
I miss that we won’t get to share again.

I miss the memories we didn’t make.
I miss the stories we didn’t get to tell.
I miss the laughter and the tears shared.

Grief doesn’t care if they are gone from
us by death, boundaries, choice or chance.
Grief just is, and it won’t stop until we do.

Learning to lean into grief, to learn from it and accept the process is so very hard. It’s not linear, it doesn’t make sense or even have a path to follow. We can only respect the process, and try to not let it drown out everything else that we still love, still care for and that still loves and cares for us.