All these years
I thought ‘barren’
meant of the womb —
but now my body
has threatened me
with menopause
and I realize it
means of the heart.
—Terri Guillemets
loss
End of life
no matter which end-of-life decisions were made,
there are always regrets, there is always that guilt —
live parts of me holding onto memories of a dying you
dead parts of me holding onto living memories of you
—Terri Guillemets
Do I write grief or is it writing me?
I write all these death poems, these grief poems —
and does it really make me feel better? Or am I just
twisting my heart so that I can feel, to remember?
Because I’m afraid that if I don’t feel, I will forget.
—Terri Guillemets
A lesson
Death teaches us meaning
of the word sudden —
one minute there, one minute
not —
the blackness, the blankness,
the emptiness, the silence, the void —
the most palpable, oppressing nothing
there ever was.
—Terri Guillemets
Lost in thought
We’ve lost, we’re losing,
it’s so much loss, too much.
But the clouds are rolling
and the breeze is blowing
and nature is so beautiful
and the dried delicate leaves
are doing their dance of balance
between hanging on and falling away
amidst their wintry shiverings —
they love the wind
for helping them let go —
they fall to the ground
and the gentle rain comes
and helps them nourish the earth.
A gray bird lands on a bare gray branch
both unadorned, yet so, so beautiful.
And the leaves are drifting
and our lives are drifting
and loss is just another form of beauty.
—Terri Guillemets
Vanished
i hurt every day remembering
that i wasn’t there for you
the hardest day of suffering
— i left you painfully alone
when you needed me most
so damn close, but not there
which is the farthest away —
i was a fool, oblivious numbskull
a frozen hearted ragdoll zombie
i’m sorry
—Terri Guillemets
Death lights heavy
Hummingbird mama
abandons her nonviable eggs —
but keeps checking back
a few more times, just to be sure.
An arm falls from a sickly saguaro
and breaks open on the ground
like a prickly green eggshell —
after decades of desert still-life
a few seconds of death-motion.
But the night breeze is so beautiful
those breezes are — so beautiful
it’s hard not to get swept away.
—Terri Guillemets
A January day that lives forever
In my mind —
I’ve tried a million
times to go back
to that day —
tried to change
my choices
begged a do-over
from the universe
I’ve crippled myself with
guilt
sorrow
thrashing the quicksand
sinking in
layers of grief
fighting a sticky web
trapped in
regret-regret-regret
I don’t even care about
my own
broken heart
I’m sorry
I broke yours
—Terri Guillemets
Memories shiver
Why does cold weather refresh old griefs?
More quiet for reflection?
Longer nights to lay awake?
Like citrus, grief is a winter fruit.
—Terri Guillemets
Why we can’t let go
Regret is the glue that makes grief stick around for a lifetime.
—Terri Guillemets
Memorial
grieving makes us stronger —
it gives us a spirit of grace
and the grace of spirit
our hearts feel weaker
but living past loss is
the ultimate courage
we honor our loved ones
by living on despite —
and all the more because
—Terri Guillemets
This time last year
the shadows are falling the same as they were last year
the early summer calm sounds the same as it did last year
as it did at this same time last year, when the babies died
when the babies died, and the mama grieved for days
—Terri Guillemets
Grief bores holes
Grief bores holes
in our hearts & heads
like a woodpecker
— peck peck peck
— knock knock knock
You can’t make it stop
Eventually it flies away
— but leaves pits
that never fully heal
—Terri Guillemets