It’s the month of my son’s birthday
and I’ve been feeling the full throttle of grief,
but I know it’s just a season
and like any other, I must drench myself in its voice…
This is him on the great wall of China…
it’s the month
when my breath catches
in the wind
and only birdsong is beneficial to my recovery…
when grasses
smother the fields
with ghostly impressions
of unfulfilled dandelion wishes…
my heart lies heavy
in the mornings
and to get up
means to face
another day without your presence…
leaves crackle on the ground outside
reminding me that you
were once there
in the sunlight…
I’ve relapsed into the dark pit of despair
and I must scratch myself out…
butterflies dance across my vision
in pale yellow tones,
inviting me
to escape into the deeper
meaning of eternity…
and I go with them
just to escape the folly of overthinking…
I surrender to the overload of sadness
and let it swallow me
in this season
of remembering…
I know full well
that it will come to pass
and the tide
of unrelenting sorrow
will turn,
and your memory
will again be pasted
into the silence
of knowing…
and your whispered breath will
bring me back once again
to myself…
