Grief never leaves. It only steps aside,
allows love and laughter again to dance.
Watches from the corner our graceful glide,
our stumbling, willingness to take a chance
once more. Memory, it seems, requires grief
to remain yet keep its distance; appear
late at night when we’re alone, perhaps brief,
perhaps droning on, even bringing fear.
The questions: Do we let grief control our
conversation? Allow dark to rule us?
Or do we choose to pray, kneel to power
filling all with natural light? Discuss
the future, accept the past, respect now?
It’s easier said than done. Yes. I know.
Roger Armbrust
June 15, 2016
