In grieving,
old language
requires new effort.
I no longer am her daughter.
I was.
She no longer has a smile.
She had.
We no longer are.
We were.
But, still
there are cardinals,
their red wings flashing
like a heartbeat
retracing her flight.
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In grieving, old language requires new effort. I no longer am her daughter. I was. She no longer has a smile. She had. We no longer are. We were. But, still there are cardinals, their red wings flashing like a heartbeat retracing her flight.
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