Mother’s Day’s poems
About losing 🤍
A place for it 🤍
They say that
Grief
is love with
no place
to go
So let’s make a place for itSaying goodbye 🤍
Saying goodbye Is easy If you don’t give a damn
Salt 🧂
Would you like some salt with your grief?
“Everything happens for a reason”
“[Deity of your choice] has a plan”
“You are so strong”
“I’m glad / At least you / she had time to do X”
“She would have wanted you to be happy”
“I know how you feel”
*silence*Her voice 🤍
I’m losing my mind Because I’m losing my grip On how her voice sounded Not just the timbre or tone But how it filled a room The way it softened at night Brightened when she laughed Flattened when she was tired I’m losing hold Of her voice before it grew small Those last few months Like she was asking a question Or seeking permission to feel Telling me “I think I might be A little bit depressed”
Gut punch 🤍
How’s your mom doing What do your parents do Is your family in the city How was your birthday My mom makes the best breakfast Fuck I’m sorry to hear I’m sorry to hear I’m sorry to hear I’m sorry to hear I’m sorry to hear
The stranger 🤍
I couldn’t look away Afraid to lose sight of her The stranger In the freezer aisle of my local grocery store Behind the glass at the A&W drive-through On the Trans Canada Trail during my early morning run In the passenger seat of a car in the left lane Crossing the street with a tote bag, checking both sides for traffic In line ahead of me at the pharmacy, renewing her prescription Even though I knew—without a doubt— The stranger couldn’t be you Still, I imagine walking up to her Wild-eyed, breathless Telling her she reminds me of you My dead mother I imagine her discomfort spiking Eyes darting, a half-step back As if my grief might be contagious Spilling out between the frozen pizzas and the soy milk
Time travel 🤍
Losing you Gave me the ability to Time travel Visiting Yesterdays that I cannot change Tomorrows that I cannot bear Replaying it all, again and again Trying to make sense of What won’t make sense
Arpeggios 🤍
Words are futile Next to the minor arpeggios In my heart
In the past, I’ve often hesitated to share the poems I’ve written.
I called them “pretentious poetry” because I didn’t feel confident calling them poems at all. They felt more like fragmented thoughts, loosely arranged into words. They’re not real poems. Calling them pretentious made it easier to put them out into the world. Even if “the world” was just 5 close friends and strangers on the internet who might by chance stumble upon them.
Last summer, I shared eight poems about what I’ve observed in the world around me, and eight poems about the journey of understanding and healing myself—which is never linear and never-ending.
But the poems I’m sharing today felt even harder to put out there.
Not because they’re too raw—
But because, honestly, who wants to read a collection of poems about grief?
And yet, I’ve come to realize:
Grief is universal, even when it feels deeply isolating.
It’s Mother’s Day today. I’m thinking of mine.
These poems are for anyone navigating the ever-shifting weight of loss.