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Archive for the tag “grieving”

Disenfranchised

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I lost a child.  You lost a parent.  She lost a spouse.  He lost a limb.  We lose what we lose, and when it’s lost, it is gone.  Not misplaced. 

Not missing like car keys to be found five minutes later next to the half-and-half in the fridge. 

But missing like one minute you’re saying “Good morning”, “Goodnight”, “See you soon”, and the next, you’re never saying it again, except to a ghost.

This is grief, unless it’s not your child, your parent, your spouse, or your limb.  Then, it’s an excuse, a personal problem, a character flaw.  And it isn’t even that your grief doesn’t belong to you, it’s that you don’t belong to your grief.

You are disenfranchised.

From your pain.  From your love.  From your god-granted human experience.  From all of it. 

You are disenfranchised. 

She lost a best friend?  Get over it.  He lost a girlfriend?  Get over it.  They lost a reason to get out of bed in the morning?  Get the fuck over it. 

When our right to grieve is denied us, except within the boxes others say must be checked.  When all love is love, but not all grief is grief.  When pain and mourning require blood kin for legitimacy.  And when the dignity to recover, as we are, is questioned, we are disenfranchised.

And if you wonder why this story has no end, it is because, like an end to grief, there isn’t one.  Because like you, like me, like he, like she, it, and we, remain disenfranchised.

 

© Copyright 2018 William S. Friday

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There Must Be Something More

more

There must be something more

than what is right in front of us. 

More than your next meal,

next crap,

next fuck. 

More than work,

more than the distractions of play. 

Traffic,

or unpaid overtime. 

Frozen dinners from Trader Joe’s,

or Wild Turkey on the rocks

to help you sleep at night. 

 

There must be something more

than what fights so hard for your attention. 

Bingeing on shows in a weekend

because you are too tired most nights

to watch just one episode at a time. 

And chasing,

always chasing whatever it is

you think will fill the hole,

complete the puzzle,

satisfy that unspoken need. 

But it isn’t really there,

because it doesn’t know your name. 

 

There must be something more

than what you’ve been told. 

More than what you haven’t been told,

or even dreamed with your

last moments of sleep before

you get up and do the same things

all over again,

until the day you can’t. 

Because you died sooner than

you were led to believe was possible. 

 

There must be something more

than what never satisfies,

always leaves you longing

or reminiscing,

or grieving.

And I would tell you what it is, 

but it doesn’t know my name either.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

“Two for Moonday”

Two poems, read at the Moonday poetry reading, held at The Little Theater in Los Angeles on Sunday, April 20th, 2014.

They are…

 

“Clean” (formerly titled “Come Flooding Back”), and “Feet for the Callouses”

 

 

“Clean”

 

My hands smell

like dispensered soap

from the bathroom

inside Starbucks

 

Clean

like the hospital room

where my son died

all those years ago.

 

Copyright © 2014 Bill Friday

 

Followed by…

 

“Feet for the Callouses”

 

To trade this now

for another

because parts of now

make me sad

to severe an arm

for the birthmark or

feet for the callouses

 

And deny my senses

for a life of fewer lessons

curse my eyes

for the glasses

or my mouth

for the soap

that washed it out

 

To not have held

the entirety of love

against my chest then

carried it on feet

that have withstood

the weight of imperfection

but continued forward

 

And trade the scars

that gave me beauty

in the infinite tomorrow

for an empty past

of losses unremembered

is a cowardice

for fools.

 

Copyright © 2014 Bill Friday

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