There are things about grief that I barely discuss — I am intimate with it in a way I wish no one would be. But ultimately it is part of every humans experience.
I don’t know the intention of this post apart from that grief shows up and takes our breath away, sometimes in small heartbreaks that are almost inconceivable to someone who doesn’t it know it as intimately.
I have been introduced it young. In profound ways. The way empire eats away at people. The way colonialism stresses people. The way no survivor is simply a survivor. Something gets affected through generations and over time. It may feel like what I am saying is unrelated but those who are children of parents who fled their homes—deeply loved—walk with a resilient heartbreak that festers in the silence.
I realize I have been writing poem after poem for grief. And have a chapbook length which means not a full length novel but an in between liminal set of pages.
I will wonder what to do with it