dying for spring

A woman in front
of me in line at the
market says she is
dying for spring.

I smile at her slip
imagining that on
the other end of
that phone is her
sister, living in some
far off land south
of the equator where
spring has an entirely
different meaning.

I wish others
could understand
and know
the grief that
accompanies
a loss
that is not quite
a loss.

Invisible
to the naked eye.
Hidden.
Unapparent
to those who haven’t
wandered through it.

But still
quite solidly real
and harrowing.

Days come together
like puzzle pieces.
I connect them
in interesting ways
trying desperately to
make something new.

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6 thoughts on “dying for spring

  1. here is my wisdom with all its lack of worth: grieving, golfing, hang-gliding, beer bonging, all best not done alone and all best not done at the same time…

  2. This is excellent, Susie. I found myself mulling over the transition at the beginning of your second stanza where the poem moves very into the inward spaces. You really are an excellent writer.

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