Advice for Grieving (bluff)


Find a bluff overhanging water
observe it first from distance
as you would a broken body on a road
all limp and full of angles splayed as trauma,
a thing to be ‘moved beyond’
or ‘gotten over’

Then, having ticked off preparations
tendered your farewells
offered up your “If I’m not back by 8” advice
having chalked your hands to trace
a path upward on the rocks
while summoning whatever absent gods
might speed you on your way

When, having arrived at the peak
(at a time most apt for metaphor)
having hauled your bones across
the face of cliffs you come to rest
on the edge of all you’ve lost
be governed only by the urge
to hurl yourself into the air,
to spin in flight and write yourself
across the rocks

or if, having found the means
within your arms to lash yourself to earth
with what anchors you have left,
persuade the howling mess
to back away and contemplate instead
a slow descent

But either way, on landing, turn
to watch a kestrel furl its wings and drop,
steady as a dart, folding into salt,
bursting as it hits and breaks the water

and find comfort in the thought
that falling from the sky
might yet be a kind of flight.

3 thoughts on “Advice for Grieving (bluff)”

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