Grief Keeps Its Own Timetable

Although nothing related has happened in over eighteen years, this pretty much sums up my day so far:

Death Barged In

In his Russian greatcoat
slamming open the door
with an unpardonable bang,
and he has been here ever since.

He changes everything,
rearranges the furniture,
his hand hovers
by the phone;
he will answer now, he says;
he will be the answer.

Tonight he sits down to dinner
at the head of the table
as we eat, mute;
later, he climbs into bed between us.

Even as I sit here,
he stands behind me
clamping two
colossal hands on my shoulders
and bends down
and whispers to my neck,
From now on,
you write about me.

—Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno (from Slamming Open the Door)

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One Response to Grief Keeps Its Own Timetable

  1. Jess says:

    oh jeff, i’m so sorry you’re having a hard time. i’ve never seen that poem before. it’s quite beautiful, in a melancholy way.

    whatever’s going on, remember that you are never alone. let me know if there’s anything i can do. hang in there. this too shall pass.

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