Tag Archives: grief

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Sucker Punched

Grief’s a funny thing. You’re going along just fine, and then suddenly you get…

Sucker Punched

Clear skies and sunshine
on the drive to work.
Like a bolt from the blue
the radio host jokingly refers
to “skivvies” and
my heart is skewered.
This is such a “you word”
I breathe deeply
try to regain my balance…

But I miss you, Dad.

©Molly Hogan

This poem feels a bit private, like something to keep in my notebook, but I’m trying to recommit to regularly participating in PF and also to sharing things that feel a bit more vulnerable. So, here it is.

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Robyn Hood Black at her blog, Life on the Deckle Edge. She’s sharing a wonderful post about all things tea-related. Be sure to stop by!

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Grief

Poetry Friday--snowThis month I’ve been participating in Laura Shovan’s 8th Annual February Daily Poem challenge. This year ‘s theme is “Water”, and each day someone posts a related prompt. We share our fledgling poetic responses on a Facebook page, with the emphasis on idea generation and drafting, not polishing.

Earlier this month Kara Laughlin shared a video and pictures of slurpee waves. Whoa! How did I ever miss these? When temperatures get so cold that ice crystals start forming in the ocean, you have slurpee waves. They’re rare, rather unworldly-looking and utterly fascinating.

slurpee.jpg

Photo credit to Jonathan Nimerfroh

Image result for slurpee waves

New York Times photo

Looking at the pictures, and thinking of a recent tragedy in the life of a friend, sparked this poem.

Grief

The very ocean
has transformed—
free flowing-waves
congealed to slushy surf.
My pulse rolls slowly
with this strange tide.
How do such things
come to pass?
I would have said
it was impossible.
Yet, here I stand
at the shore.
Without you.

Molly Hogan ©2020

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Cheriee at her blog Library Matters. She’s sharing a fascinating interview with Canadian poet, Avis Harley.  Be sure to stop by and check it out. You’ll absolutely come away richer for the experience.

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Mother’s Day Gift

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Mother’s Day Gift

I never told you about
the beads I found in her dresser
after she died
how I remember opening the drawers
one by one
slowly, quietly
so no one would hear me
how I buried my hands in her things
searching for nothing
for everything
and how in the top right drawer
I found them

I never told you how
my fingers brushed
the salt-coarse sides of
those beads I vaguely remembered making
how they were square
well, square-ish really
slightly concave on each side from
the curve of my fingertips pressing
how they were strung
on a dark leather cord threaded
through their rough-punctured holes
and how I’d painted them brightly
with her favorite colors
oranges, yellows and greens

I never told you how
I stood still and
stared at them in surprise
those salt dough beads resurrected
from the mists of my past
a long ago gift
from me to her
how I wondered then
why she’d kept them
Though I understand now

I never told you that
when I finally lifted them to me
up and out of the dresser drawer
they crumbled into bits and pieces
and left me holding
an awkwardly knotted
empty black cord

©2018 M. Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by the amazing Jama Rattigan at her blog, Jama’s Alphabet Soup. She always creates a sensory feast and this week she’s focusing on bluebirds with some wonderful poetry and gorgeous artwork as well. Make sure to stop by and dip into the blue and perhaps visit some other sites as well!