Where Do You Put Grief?
On a poetry kick and rolling with it.
If high school Kelsey could see me now, she'd be shocked to learn that I'm kinda digging poetry lately.
I just finished a memoir by a poet, and can't recommend it enough (this one, required reading if you're a divorced mom).
And then I attended a virtual poetry workshop hosted by this lovely human, and it's sparking all kinds of inspiration.
Not to mention a certain album that’s about to drop… ahem... happy TTPD day to all.
Wheels are turning up there, and it's nice to feel creative in a new way.
So I'm rolling with it.
During said workshop, the host gave us a few prompts to choose from, and one stuck out to me instantly because, well DUH, it's me — where do you put grief?
What a question. Here’s where my mind went…
Where Do You Put Grief?
You wrap it in a bright red sweatshirt, drag a chair into your closet, stand on your tippy toes, and shove it as far back on the top shelf as your tired arms can reach.
You peel it off your fingernails as you anxiously listen to another story, gather the peach-colored scraps like a squirrel gathers nuts in the fall, and you politely sprinkle it all into the trash with a strained smile.
You pull it out of the drawer, tear it into a hundred pieces, consider burning it in the fireplace — but no, even that feels like too high an honor — you put it in the recycling with the junk mail instead.
You vomit it onto a page, cut away until it's digestible, arrange it into a screen, click Publish, and immediately hide away.
So that you can slip on a new sweatshirt.
Paint on a new color.
Hold tightly to a new note.
Write about something else.
✌🏼
(Back to you, Taylor.)
LOVE