At Six Months - 11/21/08

I've written a poem to commemorate the sixth month since Warren's passing. The last few days have been good ones, but overall this has been the hardest time yet. I've heard that this place in grief is called the pit and I can now understand why.



A Dark Place

Half a year gone already.

Spring turned into Summer then Autumn,

Winter is coming on fast.

Where you once stood beside me

There is an empty space,

An empty place at the table,

An empty half of the bed.

I've taken your name off of things.

Your clothes are gone except for your baseball cap which hangs by the door.

When I put it up to my face, I can still breathe you in.

A thousand daggers hide in ordinary things.

The things that changed, the things that haven't changed, both cut the same.

How can I still be living when so much of who I was is gone?

Hollowed out and insubstantial;

Grief leaves a mark on the landscape,

Like glaciers, inexorable and unforgiving, cold.

Half a year gone.

Half a year gone.

Half a year gone.

by C. Jones, Nov. 2008