Pandemic poetry @skylewriting: writing about grief

 

 

And so we come to grief.

During this year, even if we haven´t been directly touched by death ourselves and had our heart ripped out by loss, we have still been human beings alive in a herd that suddenly sees many of its members die and vanish.

Knowledge, love, and grandparents; the libraries of the herd vanishing, one by one.

Even if not touched directly, I think many are more affected by this background choir of grief than they realise. Single voices rising in lament, joining into a chorus, then going quiet, one after another.

And for some of us, that grief has been personal, immediate. A new abyss to face, to try to build bridges across when we can´t even remember what a bridge looks like anymore.

The Empty Chair

The empty chair

across from me

is where my friend

used to sit

she was a

nurse, you know?

Then the virus

came

gave her 15-hour days

the face mask

butterfly-tattoo

she shoulda got

a medal

she would never

get to wear

The empty chair

across from me

is full of love

my grandma

used to say “I keep

my love in all of you”

the virus stole

her final breath

and left her love

in all of us

and in that empty chair

across from me

The empty chair

across from me

is where you sit

as always laughing at

me with me

the politicians

helped the virus

steal you

kissed by both

the ventilator and my lips

now in every

empty chair

I see you sit,

smiling back at

                   – Daniel Skyle

Daniel Skyle

@skylewriting on Instagram

https://www.facebook.com/skylewriting

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