grief is a room
with no doors
i sit on the bed
and talk to shadows
that do not answer
💧
sometimes it rises
like tide against sand
sometimes it written
like a letter
i cannot read
💧
yet i have learned
to carry it
not as a burden
but as guidance
to places unknown
💧
and slowly
i find my voice
in spaces
grief forgot to claim
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Beautiful and Brutal Things, his latest book.
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One Unchecked Box
"Republished" because it was the only way to add the embed for the newly recorded audio version of this story due to the Top Story badge. Plus it serves as a nice, informal announcement of the podcast's revival for another season (go subscribe!):
By Stephen A. Roddewig5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
"yet i have learned to carry it not as a burden but as guidance to places unknown" My favorite part! 💙
This was so sad and beautifully written. You captured the emotions so accurately. Loved your poem!
Grief comes in waves; some are gentle, and some knock you ass-over-teakettle into the ocean floor. May those spaces unclaimed by grief grow. 💖