*scattered poems published in scan lancaster, february 2020. they belong to a collection of poetry i compiled which chronicles the various stages of coping with grief. written a few years ago…
01. 01. 2018
dear A,
it’s been three years since i’ve lost you
and i swear i am trying.
i bought a shiny yoga mat
and i do yin yoga for grief release.
i ground my feet,
do warrior poses
and chant.
i try,
but no matter how much i contort my body at dawn
my sorrow rips through my brain
and sticks to my eyelids.
10. 02. 2018
most beloved A,
i wear my loss
like i wear my rings.
11. 02. 2018
darling A,
i swear i’m trying.
i’ve stopped reading sylvia plath
and i bookmark poems
about the universe that is supposedly unfolding in my core.
i read self-help articles about how pain is grace,
grinding my teeth.
i write inspirational quotes on purple notebooks
and i make bullet-points about buddhism
with pink pens.
i press the tips onto the paper
hard
as if to push what i write through me.
i beg my mind to meditate
i put on compilations of “deep relaxing & healing music with instant relief from stress”
and i force myself to still.
i download apps that ease anxiety
and i go to meditation groups on wednesdays.
but, no matter how long i stay cross-legged on the floor,
straightening my back and linking my thumbs,
it hurts.
25. 02. 2018
my dearest A,
i quit drinking
and i made new friends.
friends that drink hot chocolate
friends that watch soft films
friends that pray in the evenings
instead of drowning in face paint
and sprawling on dance floors.
they meet for coffee
they talk about how simple life is
and i nod when my heart clenches.
30. 02. 2018
beloved A,
my brain is softly melting to the floor
04. 03. 2018
ever dearest A,
i’ve been reading about the cycle of rebirth
i wish to believe in it,
but scepticism clouds my heart.
i’m not pure enough for transcendence
so if i am reborn
i wish i could be as small
as a sparrow.
11. 04. 2019
dear A,
i’m unsure where loss ends
and i begin.
with longing,
T. ☼
amaryllis 