The Art of Letting Go

On the loss of my sister

I have come so far to understand,

that men and women do not,

we speak with words that

grow in corners and gather dust.

I found that through the window is a much

better world filled with indifference.

A recurring delivering and the

barest touch of cool skin.

I tried to speak

insist on my own importance.

To lay pressed flowers side

by side on carefully inked paper.

I wanted to offer justifications, open

empty hands and fill them with your pride.

To return to three minutes before ten

on a breathless February morning.

I wished to sketch my voice into

your palm. A memory of myself without

revealing the black wounds blossoming

in the crooks of elbows and behind straight knees.

I misplaced the words my mother

gave me when she taught me how to pray.

Hands clasp and heads bow

but silence always follows.

I think perhaps it is the silence that

creates the nameless. That allows the

endless grip of loss. We are shown

to have, to hold, to love.

I am not shown how to let go.

Author's Note

Reviews

[barleygirl]

As a whole, I'm afraid I'm not following the meaning of all the things you express here. But as far as simply admiring & enjoying the writing itself, what a joy! So many original phrases that really sing with imagery, even if sometimes I didn't know exactly what it meant . . . but it's all thought-provoking. Love this: "we speak with words that grow in corners and gather dust" . . . and this: "I wanted . . . to return to three minutes before ten on a breathless February morning (really stabs the heart as we imagine this must've been the exact moment of loss) . . . so well-stated & brilliant: "I misplaced the words my mother gave me when she taught me how to pray." I could go on, but then I'd just copy your whole poem! *smile*

[CourtniRenee]

Thank you so much for reviewing! I wrote this poem right after my older sister died. Each stanza was a particular moment of grief that I was feeling. The words people use when someone dies are always the same, "I'm so sorry, it was her time, she's in a better place", there's never anything new, never anything helpful so it reminded me of the things people store in their attic, old and useless but we all assume it will be helpful.
I know a lot of the poem is obscure, but I was hoping that it would be something that a person could read, and then find their own meaning in. I really appreciate your thoughts and the time you took to read and review!

[barleygirl]

I'm very sorry about your loss . . . you have managed to take a situation where people usually act predictably (as you described just now) & you expressed yourself with total originality. I'm in awe!

[Inject Positivity]

I absolutely love the concept of the poem... The ending line is so very true, we were taught how to love, pray or other activities of life but never we were taught how to let go... If we were taught how to let go, life would have more happy and joyful... A stunning write with perfect word choices and superb presentation... Well done...

Sincerely
Dhiman

[CourtniRenee]

Thank you very much! I really appreciate your review.

[Lyn Anderson]

This is an outstanding poem. Everything about it -- wonderful word choices, and beautiful style.
My only suggestion would be to add a comma or a hyphen after speak in the third stanza, to give it that natural pause and punch it already has.

[CourtniRenee]

That is a great suggestion. Thank you very much for your thoughts.