Blade of Grass (New Graphic Art Version)
Grief
Blade of Grass
Sat down on the ground, Crisscross applesauce, Put my hands in the dirt, Trying to make sense of life without you, No nuggets of wisdom gleaned, Came up with a blade of grass as fragile, And precious as your life was, It blew away just like you did, I laid flat on my back, Searched the clouds for your face, To see if you were peaking Through the floor of Heaven, But I couldn’t find you, The clouds were shapeless Without you pointing to a specific cloud To provide meaning, I am looking for the meaning Without you in my life, But how can you quantify the loss of someone Who kisses me at sunrise, and kisses me at sunset Because the sun made me look more radiant In those golden hours, But your golden hours were every hour, Every moment I spent with you in between, Even when we were in an argument, And there were some times that I hated you, But I always always loved you! You were plucked from this earth too soon, Your golden radiance extinguished, But your love will last in my heart, And those you loved as long as we shall live, Until we meet again my beloved blade of grass! By Hyacinth Hale
Grief Eater
The image of you running away from me into another woman’s arms assaults my brain. A woman of no sexual threat to me, a woman who likes other women, but still she is comfort, she is home. A soft place to absorb the pain I so clearly cause you into her womb and carry your burden. I wonder if she will birth it out of her, or eat it like a cannibalistic twin, A grief eater. Look at my hips! Clearly, I eat my grief, and I would gladly eat yours. I have eaten yours, at least, the grief you have caused me. I didn’t want this. I was attracted to your lighthearted kindness, but when my soul has walked through darkness too long, light looks like an illusion and you a mirage that eventually and inevitably vanishes. I’m sorry if I kissed you with my darkness. Like a siren I can bewitch a man, mimic and perpetuate the light in his eyes until I can play with his flame between my fingers, Only to snuff it out when the fire gets too hot for my hands and dark heart to handle. A wise man runs...he finds safety in the arms of other women, His mother, his sister, a new lover whose tender kisses rejuvenate him, Allow him to be a child again so he can grow into the man he wants to be, A man that I want him to be, a man that I can never have, but a man I still want, And thus I eat my grief!
Hyacinth Hale Poetry 