Hope Cycle
7/25/21. Hope Cycle
Grief, like Love, is a seasonal thing.
It comes and seems to last forever,
Driving its tentacles deeper
Than it seems possible to penetrate;
Forcing the oozing of emotions
It didn’t seem possible to touch.
And then, entangled, the LovePain ended.
Flash floods or feathery, frozen throws
Would break through and blanket everything
Once that in-between lull had passed.
You know! That timeless, mesmerizing fog
Hiding pathways to or from the heart.
Drought is its own season in Love and Grief.
Odd to see a whirlpool frozen
Right where it had spun so wildly.
More quickly, the meltdown takes all,
As if the process could drain all the pain.
Winter always has to take its stand.
All living things have a right to die
No matter how enchanted their time seemed.
It makes no sense to bury beauty
When joy and appreciation soared.
The last snowfall gives birth to Spring.
The cycle emits a sprig breaking ground;
Little promise moments catch the heart,
Removing the detours to Memory and Hope.
Lessons in Seasons and Language
Sometimes have to be experienced
As mountaintops climbed and enjoyed;
Along with plummeting hard from clifftips
That were too sharp to hold on too long.
No matter how transcendent the view
In the descent, all deeply etch within.
Unwelcome Summer sauntered back in,
With its snapshots of all that is no more.
Yet the sun radiates Promise!
Because one life was so powerf’ly real
Lessons speak louder than loss can block.
Look at the garden beginning to grow again…
So funny, but it doesn’t ask me
For permission to begin once more:
That which died brings its own.
Instead, a mirror in the dew sees me
Stepping from one garden to the next.
Now that I’ve learned how to sow myself
Wisdom says, It’s time to teach another.
Copyright © Susan Deitrick | Year Posted 2021
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