American Life in Poetry
Here’s a fine poem about the stages of grief by Helen T. Glenn, who lives in Florida.
The release of water in the base
so controlled that the surface tension,
tabletop of stability, a mirror,
remains unbroken. Moisture seeps
down polished basalt sides.
This is how I grieve, barely
enough to dampen river stones,
until fibers in my husband’s
tweed jacket brush my fingers
as I fold it into a box. How close
the whirlpool under my feet.
Poem copyright 2012 by Helen T. Glenn from the Nimrod International Journal, Vol. 56, No. 1 (2012), and reprinted by permission of the author and publisher. American Life in Poetry is supported by The Poetry Foundation and the English department at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.