A poem begins with a lump in the throat
—after Robert Frost
Sunday will be six weeks
since our daughter died.
A date. Not a celebration.
My mouth eats without hunger.
My pillow forgets how to sleep.
Mail piles up on the table—
six issues of The New Yorker
People of the Lakota tribe believe
a grieving person is holy
because we’re closer to the spirit world
and inhale a natural wisdom
with our sorrow.
I don’t feel holy,
I put her pictures all over the house.
Her father calls them ghosts.
They comfort me.
Roseanne Freed was born in South Africa and now lives in Los Angeles. She loves hiking and shares her fascination for the natural world by leading school children on hikes in the Santa Monica Mountains. Her poetry has been published in Contrary Magazine, Verse-Virtual, and Blue Heron Review.
10 thoughts on “A poem begins with a lump in the throat by Roseanne Freed”
Roseanne’ words make pictures before my eyes. I see her and hear her. Sorry😢
Hello Myra. Thank you so much for reading my poem and leaving such kind words of understanding. and sympathy.
Ro, you have portrayed your feeling so well. Sorry for your pain
Hi Harold.Thank you for leaving me a comment and for being in the moment with me.
Gorgeous and heartbreaking and stunningly honest, Rosie! Thank you.
Thank you so much for leaving me a comment Terri. I only just saw it.
Delicate and tense at the same time.
Such a short poem for such deep emotions. sigh. O
Hi Mary. Thank you so much for taking the time to leave me a comment.
Rosie your poem went straight to my heart – what sadness
Your beautiful daughter !
Hi Denise. How lovely to see you here. Thank you so much for sharing the moment with me. And for taking the time to let me know.