There’s a loss of energy in grief, a sadness that is heavy and weighs you down. I’m not at all sure that writing helps, but writing for me is the most personal act and wherever I am, my writing is there, too.
Over at Ethical ELA, Shaun Ingalls posted a prompt inspired by Alicia Mountain’s “Drift” inviting us to re-encounter something with a new perspective.
I Hold an Acorn
in my hand
in a field of clover.Am I a child now?
Walking with sun
bright in my eyes as it rises
above the live oaks?It is spring, to be sure,
a time of resurrection.
Yet you are
not here.I cannot call
you or text (You never learned how to text),
so I stand in the field,
hold
the acorn
lift it to smell my childhood, like the scent
of the Paschal candle, anointing
to save,
to savor.I am here.
Margaret Simon, draft
You are
not.
The Kidlit Progressive Poem is nearly complete. You can follow its progress with the schedule on the side bar. Karen has the next to last line today.
Reflections on the Teche 
“…wherever I am, my writing is there, too”
And please know that wherever you and your writing are, we are holding you up, even if from afar.
There is a special feeling of content in your words, Margaret. May they bring you peace as you journey through.
Grandmother oak is a constant in your life, Margaret. The acorn connects you to another constant that is in star-studded heaven. He is holding your thoughts in his hand also. May you fill your days with writing and joy for a life that was lived with fullness. My thoughts and prayers continue for your family.
I love this poem, Mrs Simon. It gives out imagery, and I can hear the poem being said in your calm voice. And you are right, writing helps a lot with grief. But I couldn’t have learned that without you. Good days Mrs. Simon.
Kaia Ledet
In the spirit of “re-encountering something from a new perspective,” I’m thinking that grief looms large when we love deeply. Prayers for the journey!
This is absolutely beautiful…even in grief your words are stunning. Smelling that acorn and feeling your childhood…but without your Dad. My goodness. So true
Finding the reality is what I read, the hardest thing about loss. I’m hoping that the poems you’re writing are giving you a voice, some little comfort, Margaret. I’m sure everyone would be there giving hugs if they could. I am thinking of you every day.
This is beautiful, Margaret. Like the acorn, grief requires time, patience, and tending. It is a heavy burden. My thoughts and prayers are with you…
You speak so beautifully, Margaret, even with the weight of sadness bearing upon you. I am especially struck by “Am I a child now?” and the ending. xo
Oh, Margaret, this is achingly beautiful. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss. ❤️