I saw this at the beginning of March via the Poetry Is Not a Luxury account and wow. For a poem about grief, it’s so tender. Maybe this informed my plans to do¬†something for Easter like my mom did; she’s with me all the way.


Taking Care
by Callista Buchen

I sit with my grief. I mother it. I hold its small, hot hand. I don’t
say, shhh. I don’t say, it is okay. I wait until it is done having
feelings. Then we stand and we go wash the dishes. We crack
open bedroom doors, step over the creaks, and kiss the children.
We are sore from this grief, like we’ve returned from a run, like
we are training for a marathon. I’m with you all the way, says my
grief, whispering, and then we splash our face with water and
stretch, one big shadow and one small.

From Look Look Look
Black Lawrence Press, 2019