Seasons of Grief

Seasons of Grief

The things of nature
no longer go unnoticed,
the turning of the seasons
pass through my bones,
and stomp through my brain.

Spring is the time
for fresh and new beginnings.
My son was born
in the spring,
when the lilacs were blooming.

Summer is a time
of immobilization.
The air is hot and still,
I am lazy.
My son was in the hospital
alot during the summer months,
and I keep reaching for his presence
by thinking I am forgetting something.
I can't seem to remember that he's dead,
and I search the house
over for a diaper bag
everytime I leave the house.

Fall is a time of winding down,
a time of endings.
The things of nature
are dead or dying, as did my son.

Winter is cold and barren and empty.
Like me.
.