The Angry Face of Grief by Susan Aylward

The Angry Face of Grief 

an angry sorrow wakes
with me this morning,
navel in knots, and
throat clogged, gasping,
how could it be
I am turning 55? 

when i turned 50
at a full round table in Tomasitas,
my mother, there with me,
was 69

when i turned 51, 52, 53, 54,
my mother remained 69,
that bingo food depot
hospital gift shop hostess,
who shared her smile, and spirit

I want to scream
at the number 
of wheezing fuckers
hobbling along with
hospital stays,
and giving nothing back

yea, some veterans,
but so what?
she was a veteran
of giving, sustaining life,
praying, loving,
and learning to stand
up for ourselves,

we unsung heroes
with the strength, 
if not the choice,
to usher life in,
and out
she deserved to live

if that’s what it takes
i would be proud
i would walk in her shoes
fuck the world
and leave its pale platitudes

about the way life should be
could be would be,
if you were strong enough loving enough
to overcome to heal to succeed to triumph

some seeds take root early in the day
to meld with our foundation,
just as naturally
as railing, life is unfair,
and I owe nothing
to no-one