Three Familiar Places

The stages of grief never worked for me

To facilitate a healing process.

I’ve a method; a succession of three:

A production line founded in progress.

First – we strap me to the hospital bed

And drain my veins of undesirables;

Be it you, be it me, it shall be bled.

Then – the therapy; for I am curable.

Removing the remnants, the reminders;

Lest they reappear in the final place –

Which is the re-emergence to lighter

Springtime days; cleansed, prepared for what awaits.

I’m discharged from my tripartite mending

To begin again after this ending.


[Holly McKenna]

Image courtesy of Aike Jansen

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