17 screens and pairs of eyes crying
Soul-searching, seeking midnight companions
Across the globe
Sharing
Grief...
Common human experience
Each story told is unique
Yet bonds form around fragility
Vulnerability
Reality
Rawness
Help is genuinely offered and sought
Yet - flits in allusive dances between us
As easy to pin down
as blown bubbles
on a summer day
Conversations or exchanges
Difficult to follow threads
confusion abounds, yet,
it is a form of progress
Even to be here
Or there
Or everywhere at the same tine
Every single day
The confrontation of this unbidden reality
Confounds and redefines
Who I am
I am no longer yours, but mine.
Not what I want.
Kubler-Ross can go jump.
Self-care is all very well
But let me name what is lost.
My protector, my delight,
My masseur, my advisor,
My leader, my follower,
My dinner date, my lover,
My reason to get up each day,
My reason to go to bed.
Some of me died with him.
Some of him lives on in me.
(c) A A Koh-Butler, 2020
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