Poetry says what I cannot. I have tried over these last few days to write a commentary to how and why that poem touches me but I can’t. I can’t begin to describe the depth that the words bring when they speak of the table of the dead and the imagery of the tea.
When I read it, I was struck. Losing someone close changes everything. Bono put it “a house is not a home”. The last 3 lines hold particular weight for me.
Your tea is cold now
You drink it standing up,
And leave the house.
Throughout this year, my eating habits have been characterized by this. Cold food and no point in taking out plates and sitting down. Things have changed yet I cannot begin to express the draw that loneliness has for me. Things have gotten better but I still search for the new normal and I still eat standing up.
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was thinking about your mom before i click on your site,missing her a lot though i cannot be counted as her close friends.