Took a morning walk with Delia the dog and Scott around the neighborhood. Blue sky, low wind, fresh air. The sidewalks were mostly clear with a few stretches of ice — the fun kind: crisp, thin, barely covering puddles. At the start, both of us were complaining about something, but by the time we had reached Cooper School and saw the piles of snow we forgot why it mattered.
Today would have been my mom’s 81st birthday. Yesterday I put together a page of videos and links to past reflections, essays, and poems about her. This morning, before heading out for the walk, I wrote something for new shadow series:
march 5, 2023/ sara lynne puotinen
is the grief
to fit in
body — the
needs room to
for a place
head east to
to see what’s
The ending still needs work, I think.
bike: 25 minutes
I successfully resisted the desire to go out for a run — I need to rest my knees and my IT band for one more day, I think. Feeling restless and wanting to stretch out my legs, I decided to do a bike ride in the basement. Watch the last 5k of the Tokyo marathon.
Before biking, I decided to start memorizing Emily Dickinson’s “I measure every Grief I meet.” I made it through the first 6 (out of 10) stanzas. Each time I memorize an ED poem, I’m delighted, then amazed by her choice of words. So good!
I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, eyes —
I wonder if it weighs like Mine —
Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if they bore it long —
Or did it just begin —
I could not tell the Date of mine —
It feels so old a pain —
I wonder if it hurts to live —
And if they have to try —
And whether — could they choose between —
It would not be — to die —
I note that Some — long patient gone —
At length, renew their smile —
An imitation of a light
That has so little Oil —
I wonder if when Years have piled —
some thousands — on the harm —
That hurt them early — such a lapse
Could bring them any balm —
Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries of Nerve —
Enlightened to a larger Pain –
In Contrast with the Love —