Quote

Rage Against Grief

On the first day of grief, I raged against the storm,

like a mighty oak

with arms outstretched, flailing,

boxing with God.

The storm ripped branches off

flung them about like twigs,

scattering the broken pieces of me

and left me uprooted.

On the second day of grief, I raged against the storm,

like a solid door shut tight.

The wrath rattling my hinges,

I braced against the torrents.

The storm ripped the door from its mooring

as it sailed the sky like a schooner

until it landed in someone’s house

frightening sleeping children.

On the third day of grief, I danced with the storm

like a weeping willow

with arms outstretched, like the hula

telling a story of love.

The storm stripped a few leaves

casting them about like confetti

at a parade for my loved one

leaving only a trail of tears.

On the fourth day of grief, I opened to the storm

like a screen door

allowing it to blow through me

leaving my hinges in tact.

The storm blew through and through

rearranging a few things here and there

doing no damage,  but leaving me cleansed and

happy to have loved like that.

 

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