In September 2010, I posted an Emily Dickinson poem about grief. It begins like this:
I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, eyes –
I wonder if It weighs like Mine –
Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if They bore it long –
Or did it just begin –
I could not tell the Date of Mine –
It feels so old a pain –
I wonder if it hurts to live –
And if They have to try –
And whether – could They choose between –
It would not be – to die –
You can read the rest of the poem at the original post here.
Every grief is unique, but we can learn so much by listening to others talk about theirs, and eventually everyone gets a collection of them. I hope you have people to talk to about yours today.
And on a lighter note, Amy has today's line for the Progressive Poem.
2 hours ago