%%Shared Grief Journal Poetry%% • Chanel Brenner

1.
 
There is no waiting required
when reporting a person who is missing. 
The Department of Justice makes it easy. 

Without a copy of your fingerprints, 
dental records, skeletal x-rays;
without a photo of what you look like 

I fill out the form as next-of-kin, 
pretend the essential information 
will help find you―alive. 

That’s when I realize,
for all the chances you take 
you have never broken a bone. 
My hand will not stop shaking.
A volunteer tells me:
“Millions of Americans suffer from anxiety.” 

2. 

Every month your magazine,
Rock and Ice, arrives in the mail.
You read the OBITUARY section first. 
I know from being your wife 
that climbers and free-heel skiers 
rarely die of heart failure, 

old age or terminal illness.
You are unaffected by expired Sherpas. 
It’s the everyday alpinists that get to you. 

“Death by slab avalanche,” you announce.
The very idea makes you sweat, makes you smell 
like a barbequed beef sandwich. 

I’m reading the latest issue of Vogue: 
Street Style. Trends. Images of the Week. 
I dog-ear the page, prepare for more. 

3.
 
“I knew the guy. A bonehead. A wuss.
It could have been prevented.
But then, there are many worse ways to die.” 
Filling out the Missing Person form,
I feel accompanied by all your dead acquaintances, 
the ones that make you feel superior. 

My hand will not stop shaking.
I want to ask, How could you vanish 
on a mountain of man-made snow? 

I want to scream: Come home!
as rescuers search ungroomed trails, 
as helicopters and newscasters hover. 

But your future Rock and Ice obituary 
has already been written.
A coroner’s truck circles the parking lot.

IN MEMORY OF CHRISTOPHER ALLPORT

(Title poem of Now You Are a Missing Person,

a hybrid memoir by Susan Hayden (Moon Tide Press, 2023)

http://www.susanhayden.com

www.susanhayden.substack.com

Now You Are a Missing Person: A Memoir in Poems, Stories, & Fragments

Each Year by Jennie Linthorst

in Shared Grief Journal poems

A Shared Grief Journal Poem

In memory of Carol Cannon Chapman 1946-1985.

I long to know roads 
my mom would have chosen.

Each year I live beyond her age,
I stack time like firewood.

I gape at the shimmer 
aging can bring—

how golden light of a longer life
clears a path toward worthiness.

I long to talk in my kitchen,
a glass of wine in her hand,

older than her ghost,
offering truth I’ve grown into,

her brown eyes steady on mine, 
as I show her how to sustain a fire—

one log, then another,
stoking embers of time.

I wish I had the memory bank to express my mother’s essence. She died at the age of 39. I was 9 when she became sick, 12 when she died. People speak of her as a hero with a brilliant mind that lit up a room. I am the woman I am today because of that loss. The grief is woven into my essence— my life as a teacher, writer, mother, wife, and friend. -Jennie Chapman Linthorst

Website: www.lifespeakspoetrytherapy.com

Silver Girl: https://a.co/d/06UAsPVr

Autism Disrupted: A Mother’s Journey of Hope: https://a.co/d/09Yes9dI

Dance in the Dream of Sacred Memory by Denise Mandel-Becker

in Shared Grief Journal poems

A Shared Grief Journal Poem

For my beautiful son, Jared.

He was light and joy incarnate; uniquely so. He touched all who knew him, in his life that was far too brief. He is loved endlessly.

Dance in the dream of sacred memory
In the before
when what would be was not yet
And what was, was held in joy.
 
Laugh in the moment of sweet fullness,
when we were together.
Normal was what we lived
passing worries were to be feared
but not yet manifest.
 
Swim in the stream of belonging
when we were each other’s.
We knew our place, our home.
Neither was yet lost or aching, shaking, breaking.
 
I sleep in fits and starts
while you rest in eternal slumber
the distance too great for touch,
only thought, feeling, revisiting, longing…
 
Lay down in silence and heartache.
The grand scheme stretches out
and nips at my heels.
My impotence prostrates me
my confidence flees me
The universe chuckles, and spins out its plan,
unperturbed.
 
And so I dance in the dream of sacred memory
When you were here
I was whole
You were unharmed
I was unmarred
We, a lived truth,
not apart.

A Robin in the Sky by Rhonda Kremer

in Shared Grief Journal poems

A Shared Grief Journal Poem

For my son, Jordan.

I’m honored to have had twenty-eight years with you on this earth. You are an extraordinary soul and made the world a better place. You helped people feel seen and loved. You fought hard and were so brave. Jordan, you were too GOOD for this earth!

I saw you in a baby bird
Just yesterday you perched
Upon your whitest rocking chair
A messenger immersed

You stared at me, I smiled at you
Beneath your copper sign
The one that reads FOREVER LOVED
A circle of divine

Infinity, eternity
Enduring love not lost
It’s only after death
The depths of bonds are felt and tossed

You've now become a part of me
I question life on earth
I long to find serenity
Without the boy I birthed

Renewal of the springtime
When this robin came to bring
Reminders that this life goes on
Spirits continuing

From dust we came, to dust return
Our bond can never die
The nearness of my loving son
A robin from the sky

Echoes on Every Rack by Karen Cassel

in Shared Grief Journal poems

A Shared Grief Journal Poem

In memory of my daughter, Sydney.

A closet full of past and future
Sits heavy on every rack
Uniforms she proudly wore
Trophies from running track 

Shelves lined with college books
Highlighted, worn through
Once clutched while she planned
For a future she knew

Sweatshirts she lived in 
Those were her comfort clothes
Nothing fancy, that wasn’t her
Though she saved that special rose

Her shirts don’t smell like her anymore
That faded with the months
She hasn’t worn a single one
Not twice, not even once

What do I do with all these things?
I can’t fathom giving them away
I may just hold on to them forever

Keeping them until my own decay

In Sydney’s short 29 years, she was filled with strength, love, and grace. She ran competitively with determination, met her long illness with courage, and carried a smile that could soften any day. Her wit was quick and her heart was generous and loyal. I carry her heart with me every day.

People say, “Look for signs your sister’s back.” by Alexis Rhone Fancher

in Shared Grief Journal poems

A Shared Grief Journal Poem

In memory of my sister, Debra Lynn

She was fierce and funny and kind.
She was beautiful and brilliant,
and I miss her terribly.

When a hummingbird buzzes my ear,
I take it as a sign she’s broken free.
Look for clues, people say. She’ll reappear.
But when I scan the sky, there’s only me.

I take it as a sign she’s broken free.
The hummer flitting from here to there.
But when I scan the room, there’s only me.
Nothing in the room but open air.

The hummer flitting from here to there.
Means nothing, I tell myself on repeat.
I’m desperate but I can’t despair.
To do so would be to admit defeat.

It means nothing, I tell myself on repeat.
People say to look for signs; she’ll reappear.
To despair would be to admit defeat.
A hummingbird buzzes my ear.

“People Say, ‘Look for signs your sister is back,’” was first published in Calul Journal.

AlexisRhoneFancher.com | Sinkhole: The Sister Pantoums

Daffodils by Tom Lombardo

in Shared Grief Journal poems

A Shared Grief Journal Poem

In memory of my wife, Lana

For weeks after Lana's funeral, 
my mother cooked for me, 
handled death's paperwork,
opened a door—
Look outside at your garden.
Looking outward for the first time since burial
prayers, I saw daffodils blooming,
the ones that Lana and I planted
in a sunken rectangular spot last Fall,
set against the bright, new green of Spring,  
Easter white and careless yellow.

“Daffodils” was published in What Bends Us Blue (WordTech Editions, Cincinnati, 2013, p. 30).

A Butterfly Poem by Mahaley Patel

in Shared Grief Journal poems

A Shared Grief Journal Poem

For Saachi, my child of joy. You are the best thing that has ever been mine.

A butterfly flutters its wings 
in the crisp morning air 
I can see it in the garden 
Fragile and weightless and beautiful 
It rests where the roses bloom
Where your hands would’ve reached 

It does not stay long
A moment - a breath 
Then gone, as if it was never there
But I saw it 
I know it was real 

Just like you 
Who came to me in the morning
Fragile and beautiful 
Then gone, as if you were never there
But I saw you
I know it was real 

Butterflies do not live long 
Their life is brief and they were never meant to stay 
Carried out by the same air that brought them in 
A baby, carried out in her mother’s arms
The same arms that brought her in 

The air still moves where you were 
My arms still remember your weight 
And when the butterfly returns,
I do not chase it.
I just watch,
and whisper your name.

MahaleyPatel.com | Your NICU Story: Reflecting on Your Family’s Experience