Tag Archives: grief
I have seen the grey birds, Winter driven
These are images of an exquisite broadside catalog for Auerhahn Press, published and printed in 1959 by Dave Haselwood, aka Joko, our zen teacher at Empty Bowl Sangha. Joko gave this to me once when we had lunch, after I expressed interest in his life as a beat printer. Continue reading I have seen the grey birds, Winter driven
Thistledown
I walk up the hill; the friend I’m house-sitting for told me I could see the bay from here, at the top. A ragged sob chokes out of my chest, partly from the exertion of the climb, partly from my purpose in coming here. I’m on a mission.
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Grief Eight Ways
There is the grief of anger; the futile grief of throwing things at a wall that isn’t there.
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There Be No More Sorrow
I’m thinking it will be like any other Sunday, but Stephen comes to my porch with news. “We have another funeral today,” he tells me, “It was at the house of your friend, the Muslim woman,” he tells me and I catch my breath. “It is her mother. Oh, she was very old. She was blind, you never see her because she is all the time in the room there.”
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Parts of Speech
I was sitting on my porch, reading by lamp light, and only vaguely aware of the activity when Auntie Amma and Margaret ran by, shouting, and Esther followed. I looked up and thought that probably some of the kids were in trouble again. Esther had been yelling at them all evening.
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