My mouth knows the words
and frames them in gilt cursive,
ornate and twisted with false pretty
I don’t own, sweet phrases blooming
on pink greeting cards I never buy,
because I have truth to speak
that is simple, unflowered
and natural as breath. These words
are not my own and said only
because they must be said:
It’s okay to go.
I mean it, too. She’s leaving
with or without my permission,
but it’s something they say she’s waiting for
so I say it, my lips ignoring grief
big as a term fetus and tear-fed
kicking and unborn
under the solar plexus,
and deeper fear unthroated
that budded the first time
I got lost in the grocery store,
or the day she forgot my name.
It was losing, but in degrees
and hard to let happen, when hers
were the fingers I grasped first, reflexive;
before I learned the language of trust,
the sting of resentment.
How do you let go
of the one who held you first
and knew you longest?
We don’t, we can’t.
We loose spirit from flesh
only to hold it gently forever.
Susan Daniels Poetry 
“twisted with false pretty” is a very cool line!
Thanks, Holly. This was a tough one to write.
tears…losing in degrees..the hardest part for me was when she forgot your name..oh susan…yes..we don’t… we can’t… big hugs your way..
Thanks, Claudia. Hugs back.
dang…moving…what a touching ending as well..how do we let go those that held us first…made me think on the death of my MIL…a hard hard time…and still we carry her in small ways with us….
Thanks, Brian. What you say here is so true. Very hard to let go and we don’t, really. We always carry those we love with us.
I am very nearly at a loss for words, this is so beautiful and resonates so deeply with me. I thought I should let you know.
Alice, thank you so much. It was so damned hard to write I wasn’t sure I should publish it.
Those are the ones that sing. I’m very glad you published it. This one sings to me with angel voices.
Alice, what you have said here is beautiful. Thanks for sharing it.
I just sent a link to this poem to an old and dear friend.
Oh, this is such a hard one. It is so hard to give someone one loves permission to ‘go.’ I learned from a young woman who worked in a nursing home, however, the importance of doing that…..of saying ‘it’s okay’ even though your heart is breaking! A poignant gut-level poem well done.
Mary, thank you. It was really hard to get this one out.
Its okay to let go ~ the line that gives and inspires trust, specially at death bed ~ lovely write Susan ~
Grace, thank you.
So beautiful, so sad, heartwrenching..made tears come to my eyes and a deep empathy emerge for you and your loss..you say it all in this poem, so perfectly, wondrously accomplished! 🙂
Helen, thank you. Made me cry as I wrote it too.
Susan, this is eloquently written and very calming for me as I wrote about Alzheimer’s also! The day my own father didn’t recognize me, sliced me wide open !
“How do you let go
of the one who held you first
and knew you longest?” Do questions come any tougher than this?
I especially love the ending and will now gently hold my fathers memory forever!!
Oh, I am glad this spoke to you.
“deeper fear unthroated” — your words gave me my own lump in my throat Susan. I think this is magnificent. I read it through twice to fully grasp your words and heavy emotions. Wonderfully done. Sad and true..and oh so difficult.
Audra, wow, thank you. Like I said above, I really wasn’t sure about sharing this one today. Thanks for letting me know how it made you feel.
I am glad you did share Susan. This is in the top ten for me for sure
Audra–that means so much to have you say that–thank you!
wow, this is just amazing writing… and double-wow to this:
“my lips ignoring grief
big as a term fetus and tear-fed
kicking and unborn
under the solar plexus”
in terms of the writing. but i think i know something of the underlying story… or my own version of it, where i had to let my mother go this past summer (& yes, she was going anyway, it was for me i needed to let her do so – & that, i think, is a mother’s love)
& whether there’s any similarity between your meaning & what your poem brought up for me, i thank you for it
Ruth, thank you. i am glad my sharing this spoke to your experience, too.
Beautiful.
I hope you’re doing alright.
Oh, I am, and thanks for the concern. This happened a long while ago.
One of my favourites.
Nelle, thank you. you are the second person to say that–I almost did not share this one, because it was so raw, but you and Audra are making me rethink that.
I feel the grief in this poem. This one must have been difficult.
Oh, it really was a tough one to write, but I felt I had to. Thanks for commenting.
This is beautifully written, Susan.
” gilt cursive, ornate and twisted pretty” excellent phrase!
Thanks so much for saying that–really appreciate it.
Tragic, poignant, touching ~ understand why it was so moving to write xx
Polly, thank you so much! It was a tough one.
Written from the heart. Very good ink
Thank you, Dewey.
This is really good writing
Deana, thank you!
In tears!
Jules, I was too. Thanks, friend.
Wow. I love your final stanza here about how we cannot let go of some things. Something’s are literally woven into our being and its better to hold on to the memory rather than rip it from us. Beautifully written. This was a truly emotional piece to read
Gretchen, thank you. You are right. Some things are as much a part of us as our DNA.
This is beautiful. I felt ripped at inside while reading it. Lovely writing.
Heidi, thank you so much.
Very strong beginning (middle and end too.) But so hard to make one’s self fit into all these losses and terrible phases of life. Thanks. k.
Oh, it is. I think we eventually reach a point where we are saturated with loss.
Your poem is beautiful. My heart broke reading this. Hopefully good memories help with the healing.
They have–thanks so much for commenting.
Gentle. Wistful. Clearly heartfelt.
Thank you so much, JCN
U brought to mind Spener, Rothke and Ignatow! Grandiose Susan !
Debbie, thank you.
Sadly beautiful, Susan. We know what you mean. This is the hardest of all letting-goes.
Too painful to read without holding my breath…beautifully written, especially poignant end lines.
Thank you so much, Sally.
Beautifully moving, sad.
Thank you, Laurie.
Thank you for putting your words to our pain. Sometimes we need the poet’s words to express what we feel. This was raw and beautiful.
Thanks so much. This was a hard one to write, really.
My father passed away in the last days of January 5 years ago now. And when this part of the yearly calendar slips by I feel the grief bubble up, and miss his being. How do you let go? You don’t. You hold the memory close and share the stories – keeping alive what is most treasured.
So well said, Stephen, and so true.
A tough, painful loss — well captured.
Thank you, Sabio,
i can feel this.
Thanks so much, lucy.
“We don’t, we can’t.
We loose spirit from flesh
only to hold it gently forever.”
And that’s the magic, hard learned. My grandmother is with me now, and no longer feels pain. But that might be easier than letting go while the loved one is still living, still mine. This poem is fabulously truthful–more than is possible in words alone.
Thank you so much for saying so, Susan.
How do you let go
of the one who held you first
and knew you longest?
Oh Susan, i travelled a long distance to see my father’s sisters and brothers to prepare for his funeral and when I saw them I was so overwhelmed I wept. I remembered him and my time with his familiy years back and I could not hold back.
Your words are poignantly beautiful, tearing at my heart. Thank you for making me see that I can never let go of my father’s memory.
My sincerest best wishes 🙂
Celestine–sending you a huge electronic hug to Ghana!
from sweet cards to strong fetus and fingers grasped –you keep this grounded in experience and then weave it all together with pure heart aching beauty. love it!
Jane, wow–thank so much.
Since I arrived here in this community, Susan, your voice has so keenly captured the pulses of the heart, whether you write of love or longing or nature or playful abandon. But when you write of this–whenever you write of this–I feel my heart breaking. Again.
George, thank you so much, but I am sorry for your pain.
My reward for digging deeper into your writings. Thank you. This poem is now a part of me.
Jana, thank you. I am honored you shared that with me.