This month Mary Lee Hahn challenged the Inklings to write after Joyce Sutphen‘s poem Next Time. Sutphen’s poem has a dreamy quality to it, that if-only-I-could-do-it-again thought process. I was drawn to her lines “Next time I won’t waste my time on anger…Next time, I’ll rush up to people I love, look into their eyes, and kiss them, quick.”
I write about grief a lot. Why is that? Grief settles after a while but is always there waiting to be released again and again. It can be set off by a song, the familiar sound of a bird, or my grandson saying “I want to Facetime Pop.” We have to remind him (at age 5) that Pop died. When I sent this poem to fellow inkling Heidi Mordhorst, she said, “You write again and again about grief because you are still learning exactly this.”
Abby Wambach said recently in “We Can Do Hard Things” that she has made friends with her grief. “grief has become a friend to me, in that I am developing a real true relationship with it, because it’s the access point to all of the most intense feelings that I feel, the most intense sadness, the most intense anger.” So, here I am again and again, writing a grief poem.
I’ll avoid the cut grass where the snake eggs lie. I’ll check the mailbox for menacing wasps. Next time I’ll be wary when the cat calls to me in mournful mews.
Next time I won’t stray from the well-worn path. I’ll acknowledge wisdom of ancestors who learned, felt a spiritual guide. Who denies their purpose?
Next time I’ll read the book start to finish, underline passages in pencil, notes in the margin. Next time I’ll know death comes. It will not surprise me. Gut me.
Next time I’ll answer the call on the first ring. I’ll be there by your side, holding your hand in mine. I’ll let love keep its promise, be my purpose.
There are the hard and scary things we can try to avoid, like snake eggs and wasps, and there are the ones that will come no matter what. As you write your way through and to and around your grief, you create such beauty.
So well written – the hard feelings do stay with us but also they can be a reminder of the good times and joys we had before the loss. It is a bit like a path we decide which way we are turning today.
Ohhhh… Margaret. This poem! My goodness. It has gutted me. Thank you for sharing this. Yes, the things we would do next time. Let love be my purpose… what a perfect sentiment. Blessings to you on this journey.
I love the way your poem wanders from checking the mailbox for menacing wasps to the harder, more emotional next times. But yep, the gut-wrenching grief is the price of love. Thanks for sharing this beauty. (Although I’ve got to say–well maybe I don’t–treasure the magic you and your students found in the snake eggs!)
Oh, how children can be both a comfort in grief and at the same time, unknowingly, poke at the hole in your heart. Grief never really goes away, does it? It is always lurking there on the flip slide of joy.
You’ve shown those things we’d love to jump over, leave behind, wish away, yet finding a better way, finding love within them, for others, and for you, too, Margaret. I love your heartfelt poem.
What I love about all these Next Time poems is their gift to us of wanting to grow. And there’s still time. Thank you, Margaret, for sharing your grief-growing.
The mailbox, the path, the book, the call…these are all the places that grief walks with you and us in this poem. I can’t explain why you write about grief. Heidi is probably spot on. But, you write about it with such beautiful honesty that I appreciate. Thank you.
[…] for other poets to write their own poems. Margaret Simon was one of them – check her post here. She writes about grief a lot and hers and Sutphen’s poem have been percolating since I read […]
Your poem is so moving and lovely. I love the specificity of that first stanza, and the punch of your final stanza’s: “Next time I’ll answer the call/on the first ring” followed by the beauty of that hand-holding. Your writing about grief is such a gift to us, and, I hope, a solace to you. Your words shine a light on this journey we’re all on…
I guess it’s a truth that each of keeps writing about the thing we are still trying to learn. I appreciate the craft here as much as the vulnerability, and, as Patricia says, the willingness to grow. I’m rereading this stanza with a new appreciation of the desire to study up, to be ready–when you never really can.
Next time I’ll read the book start to finish, underline passages in pencil, notes in the margin. Next time I’ll know death comes. It will not surprise me. Gut me.
Thank you so much for this beautiful poem. I think I am going to consider it a reminder to repair all my fragmented relationships, to revel in the people I love, and like Mary Oliver, pay more attention to the wild world around me.
Margaret, you created the next-time poem with true love thoughts. Your ending is beautiful and heartfelt. Grief is one of those emotions that swallows us up. That is why we need to open the doors to love to bring back balance. May your September days be filled with love.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 
There are the hard and scary things we can try to avoid, like snake eggs and wasps, and there are the ones that will come no matter what. As you write your way through and to and around your grief, you create such beauty.
So well written – the hard feelings do stay with us but also they can be a reminder of the good times and joys we had before the loss. It is a bit like a path we decide which way we are turning today.
Ohhhh… Margaret. This poem! My goodness. It has gutted me. Thank you for sharing this. Yes, the things we would do next time. Let love be my purpose… what a perfect sentiment. Blessings to you on this journey.
Very powerful and heartfelt closing lines, “I’ll let love keep its promise,
be my purpose”
Thanks for sharing Margaret.
I have nothing I can say except thank you, Margaret. It comforts and validates.
Beautiful, sad, poignant, heartfelt, resonant. And so true. Thank you for your poem!!
I love the way your poem wanders from checking the mailbox for menacing wasps to the harder, more emotional next times. But yep, the gut-wrenching grief is the price of love. Thanks for sharing this beauty. (Although I’ve got to say–well maybe I don’t–treasure the magic you and your students found in the snake eggs!)
Oh, how children can be both a comfort in grief and at the same time, unknowingly, poke at the hole in your heart. Grief never really goes away, does it? It is always lurking there on the flip slide of joy.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem full of heart and grief, yet also spilling with memories.
You’ve shown those things we’d love to jump over, leave behind, wish away, yet finding a better way, finding love within them, for others, and for you, too, Margaret. I love your heartfelt poem.
What I love about all these Next Time poems is their gift to us of wanting to grow. And there’s still time. Thank you, Margaret, for sharing your grief-growing.
The mailbox, the path, the book, the call…these are all the places that grief walks with you and us in this poem. I can’t explain why you write about grief. Heidi is probably spot on. But, you write about it with such beautiful honesty that I appreciate. Thank you.
This is so lovely, Margaret. The last stanza is especially heart-wrenching for me.
[…] for other poets to write their own poems. Margaret Simon was one of them – check her post here. She writes about grief a lot and hers and Sutphen’s poem have been percolating since I read […]
I was so moved by your poem. Thank you for sharing. Yours and Joyce’s inspired me to write my own “Next Time”; https://beverleyabaird.wordpress.com/2024/09/07/first-friday-poetry-for-fri-sept-6-24/
Your poem is so moving and lovely. I love the specificity of that first stanza, and the punch of your final stanza’s: “Next time I’ll answer the call/on the first ring” followed by the beauty of that hand-holding. Your writing about grief is such a gift to us, and, I hope, a solace to you. Your words shine a light on this journey we’re all on…
I guess it’s a truth that each of keeps writing about the thing we are still trying to learn. I appreciate the craft here as much as the vulnerability, and, as Patricia says, the willingness to grow. I’m rereading this stanza with a new appreciation of the desire to study up, to be ready–when you never really can.
Next time I’ll read the book
start to finish, underline passages
in pencil, notes in the margin.
Next time I’ll know death comes.
It will not surprise me. Gut me.
Thank you so much for this beautiful poem. I think I am going to consider it a reminder to repair all my fragmented relationships, to revel in the people I love, and like Mary Oliver, pay more attention to the wild world around me.
Margaret, you created the next-time poem with true love thoughts. Your ending is beautiful and heartfelt. Grief is one of those emotions that swallows us up. That is why we need to open the doors to love to bring back balance. May your September days be filled with love.