Secrets found: An exchange
Grief: Part 4 of 5
My friend and fellow poet, Brian Funke (check out his lovely Poetry & Process) and I created this short collaboration on grief. Five short posts run that in a quick series of daily micro posts. Two of Brian’s beautiful poems bookending my three micro essays.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Secrets found
(100 words)
I’m sorting through the remains. My mother’s doting dhobi arrives. We haul the steel trunks. Memory ghosts jump up, cling to me. Like the ubiquitous dust. We’re prepared to break locks.
But nothing’s locked!
My mother marched to her own drummer. Gave it all away—even her jewelry—years before she departed. Knew things worth saving are of little interest to thieves.
Old photos. Decaying notebooks with my scratchings. Letters in friendships I still miss. Sentimental poems I wrote in rhyme that I don’t remember.
Suddenly I realize—she knew I’d be coming for these dusty echoes.
Was I a poet back then?
-reena
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
A bit about these reflections…
Every Thanksgiving family and friends I host, know I’ll insist on specifics in their gratitude sharing.
“No generics please! Tell us the nitty gritty of the odds that worked in your favor, and how, this year.” My guests never fail to inspire and delight with their sharing.
The incident and transformation I describe via these three micro-essays, is what I shared this past thanksgiving. I feel a deep gratitude for what I found in that garage: a deepened connection to my mother. Sometimes the most beautiful parts of life arrive from places and directions we dread the most.
"Where your fear is, there is your task; therein lies your work." — Carl Jung | A guest post by
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