Last night, I returned from a family member’s funeral, the second I attended in a week’s time. So I’ve been reading poetry about grief.
The news returning each time it’s washed away. –Terence Hayes, “The Whale”
the hours and days of everyday life, something like life but only as dying is like life. –C.K. Williams, “Grief”
Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; / Not untwist—slack they may be—these strands of man / In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; / Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be. -Gerard Manley Hopkins, “Carrion Comfort”