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A Deep Short Poem About Grief and Loss: Where “Us” Went to Die
It is a short poem that explores how it feels to experience yourself when you are no longer familiar with yourself…when you have lost the touch to “Us” that defined you…when the one you love the most leaves your side…
I have been sitting beside the grave
long enough for the grass to claim my shadow.
I see birds tilting in the branches above me,
light stitching and unpicking the air.
And suddenly, the air smells
Like a metal left in rain too long.
I ask the headstone again,
as if it might feed me lies
“Who died?”
Was it me?
Was it her?
or
Was it us?
Maybe it was me
For I could not feel my legs.
Maybe it was her
For she was lying in the pit of the earth.
Maybe it was us…The third person,
We built out of lame jokes and late nights.
When Us seemed more real than anything else.
Maybe that is what disappeared first.
Not a single body.
Not a single name.
But a thread of a shared secret,
the warmth of a hand that read my pulse.
The space between saying “you”
and meaning “we.”
It must be us.
Dead and gone.
In the stillness of air, beneath the earth.
It must be us.
The grass looks at my shadow.
The stone mourns my breath.
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