The Thing Is
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.

  Ellen Bass





And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well.

Comments

alice c said…
My heart aches for you.
Amy A. said…
Amen. All will be well.
Fannie said…
Thinking of you.
NorahS said…
Have been thinking of you all day and keeping you in my heart, hoping that all will, in fact, be well.
Suzanne said…
Oh no, what happened? I am concerned and grieve with you, though I know not for what.

You're in my thoughts, too, and we will help you carry whatever burden may be troubling with you. All shall be well, yes, and all manner of thing shall be well. Hang in there.
Paola said…
Oh Bb, can I hug you tight? Hold you in my arms and give you a mere minute of security?
I never believe when people tell me all will be well, I'll admit that
BUT
what else is there for us to do but not BELIEVE and hold on and be BRAVE.
What's happened?

(have commenced hand wringing)
Badger said…
I needed to read that today. But wait! You posted that for you! And I don't know what happened! So now I am grieving my thing(s) and worried about your thing(s?)! This is not good.
Anonymous said…
That is a very moving poem. Beautiful.

jbhat
Duyvken said…
Wishing you well.
That is such a beautiful poem, thanks for posting it.
A

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