on existential, interpersonal & disenfranchised grief
or: how to hold grief when the world is on fire (written 9th jan 2026 in melbourne, Naarm, australia. i think the date is important context - more than it ordinarily might be - given all the things happening in the world at that moment)
existential thinking -
a crisis maybe
a questioning for sure -
has shaken loose
thoughts
realisations
wonderings
revisions
a sense of the fragile
of the fleeting
of things that could
- should -
withstand the fires
that threaten to
engulf
consume
ash-a-matise
(yes i made that word up)
(yes it's the one i want)
i said to someone
from unwanted,
but perhaps needed,
distance
that life is too short and too precious
to remain in conflict
with those we care for
it is also too short
to remain in connection
with cycles of pain
(i didn't say the second part quite so well in the moment...the benefit of time, reflection and drafting)
the world is not going to hell
it is
creating
summoning
embodying
it is becoming
hell
yesterday i saw a woman
shot in the head
shot in the head
shot. in. the. head.
i saw a woman shot in the head
from multiple angles
before i finished my morning coffee
today i watched as fires tore through places i love
places that hold memory and beauty and other people's homes
i refreshed
and watched
and refreshed again
i streamed news
watched as repeated warnings
filled my screen
my screens
i tried to work
but when the meds kicked in
they chose fire-watch as their focus-target
they chose checking for responses on social media
and i realise now -
as i sit alone
in my inner-city-suburban-safety
far far away from danger
brushing snowflakes of ash off my clothes -
that i was looking for connection
i was looking to say:
are you seeing this?
are we together in this?
i am not alone and you are not alone and we are not alone
and over the last few years
death has lived (oh the irony)
blood on our screens
blood on the streets
blood on our hands
limbs torn
heads gone
babies and children and women and men
a little brown girl in a car
a grown white woman also in a car
and it's not just there
it's there as well
(and my body is not in either place but it lands and spreads through me and it is now here, too)
and so it settles in my heart
like the ash on my clothes
and i am
convinced
convicted
utterly confident
that life is too short
too precious
too fleeting
and too fragile
to remain
in conflict
with those
we care for
About the Creator
ali
a tangled mess of thoughts. occasionally a clear one bursts through. how about writing things in a public forum? seems wise.
she / her
unceded Wurundjeri & Boon Wurrung Lands
substack: aliwriteswords
insta / upscrolled: @aliwriteswords
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Comments (4)
♥️The Polysyndeton in your title, listing existential, interpersonal, and disenfranchised grief, hit me with a sense of exhaustion. It mirrors the heavy burden you were carrying in your neck of the woods during that specific Friday in Melbourne. ♥️Inside the body of the poem, I could sense the drift of stability that your surroundings once gave you. Your use of Epizeuxis in the line "shot in the head", followed by the abrupt full stops in "shot. in. the. head." creates a Diacope that acts like a physical tensing of the body. It is startling and heartbreaking; I am so sorry you saw that.
This sounds like my own inner monologue. These are such tough times. We are seeing too much... ❤️
I remember that day, a few weeks ago, the plume was dreadful. Nothing compared to the Blue Mountains plume from 2020, that was hell. Nothing wrong with making up words in poetry!! That’s why it’s the best form 🥹⚡️.
WOW POWERFUL. HUGS TO YOUR HEART. BLESSINGS TO YOU.