GRIEF Poem: A Year After, by Lisa Kosow

for R.W.

We used to celebrate October,
long shadowed, all Hallowed,
haunted month of our births
with afternoon tea, bitter amber
brew and sweet pastries.

Yet now I remember you
as dim November, balanced between
your end and autumn’s,
unwritten poems in your head,
hands empty of gifts, given or received.

It’s been a year since your
soul wisped into translucent ether.

This morning there’s a chill wind as I run
uphill, lungs contracting in cold
brown leaves crumbling underfoot.

This close to Thanksgiving
I’m grateful for the respite
of waning light leading
me to blank sleep of winter nights.

I’m grateful for mourning doves
cooing me awake, even as in faint, brittle
dawn I mourn your voice, your words—
still, your song’s not ended.