Present in Absentia

At the start of my day, grief found me and took shape in poetry. If you are willing, share with me how it feels to you.

Grief is felt like a river,

At times slow,

Almost tranquil,

At others raging,

White-capped,

Churning froth.

Loss is experienced the same,

At times it drains low,

And the sedimentary banks

Lay exposed…

Their layered shame counted,

Present in absentia.

At other times it swells,

Overflowing its bounds,

Flooding the plains of perseverance,

Running over careful retaining walls,

So complete, we must learn to swim anew

Through the long years of tears.

Grief ebbs and wanes:

Here a moment,

Dried husk the next,

Exposed in landscapes,

Like fresh waters carving

New ravines for tears to flow.

What a subtle force…

Able to flood the channels,

Swell the sedentary traces,

And reveal the hidden hand

Of a Father’s love,

As He teaches through loss.

As always this is Dust,

To you,

For you,

From Him,

In Me.