We need a word for love that is now grief,
Which refuses to collect dust in the glare and
Lively clatter of the heart;
Love of what was, that still is
Because stillness is precisely the puzzle
For our grinding, mule hearts —
Heart like a catchment basin filling
To overflow then recede in accordance with the seasons —
Yet the heart is a walking vessel in search of rain —
Over and over we bolt from the discomfort of our
Agitated, unrestrained thirst that manages to
Eclipse us every time. Here it is, the skinned and meaty crux:
Love guides us intelligently, beyond our narrow rows of perception
To work the acres of our grief into mercy —
Stopping, of course, to chew on our words
And lap at the cold rainwater from last season’s storm.
About Kaitlin Deasy
Kaitlin T. Deasy lives in Northern California by a river, near the coast and close to the Redwoods. She is tempted to skip out every day for those three more desirable options. In the autumn she thinks, in the winter she eats soup, in the spring she is amazed by everything, in the summer she plays. Throughout the year she falls in love. Kaitlin does whatever she wants because she is young, unmarried, poor and happy. You can follow her blog at http://kaitlindeasy.wordpress.com.
One Comment
Most honest and beautiful thing I’ve read In a long time