“Kindness”
Playground duty.
Her question, among sea
of flying hormones and bouncing balls,
“How’s your grief?”
I look at her. My grief?
No one has asked for months.
People expect me to move on.
They do not want to hear that every night
I seek frantic handholds at the edge
of a deep and endless chasm.
Student needs attention and we move apart.
But all day I dwell in the fragrance
of her sweet and unexpected question.
(C) Carol Wilcox, 2022
1 comment:
Beautiful poem, Carol. I was in a grief group when my mother died. It was so helpful since so few of my peers had experienced the loss of a parent. I remember a woman in her 70s (I was in my 30s at the time) who said that losing her mother was more difficult than when her husband had died.
This student who asked is wise and compassionate beyond her years.
"But all day I dwell in the fragrance
of her sweet and unexpected question."
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