Tag Archives: grief

Poem for Mama: What Happens to the Love?

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My mother, Geraldine “Gerry” Garren, 84, passed away two years ago on this day. I wrote this for her, but it was also inspired by others I know who are suffering. This month has been a cruel one for many.

I hope this will give someone hope, because I truly believe that if you love someone and they love you, death does not take that love. I don’t think it can.

This poem is my theory of what happens to that love…and why it makes your heart ache.

What Happens to the Love?
By Michelle Garren-Flye

Losing you left all the edges:
your love moved into my heart…
god it hurts when it stretches.

Indelible, your love stresses;
oh, can I bear this part?
Losing you left me with edges.

Death can’t claim successes,
so love moves in with art,
causes aches as it stretches.

Accept the way it presses
and tears your chest apart;
losing someone leaves edges.

Patience, time progresses
and lightens what once was hard.
Just breathe as the heart stretches.

Grief is the way love compresses
your love and mine as one in my heart.
Yes, it hurts when it stretches,
and sometimes I still feel the edges.
Photo and poem copyright 2025 Michelle Garren-Flye

National Poetry Month: Fortune Cookie Poetry 13, “Nature, time and patience are the three great healers”

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Ah, these fortune cookies.

My counselor once told me that grief isn’t linear…but it does happen. It may loop back on itself so that when you thought you’d entered the acceptance phase, you suddenly find yourself set back to the anger.

So, while I agree with my fortune cookie to an extent, I also know it’s not a super simple process.

To make the writing of this poem even tougher on myself, I decided to do it as an acrostic poem. I’ve never actually managed one of those successfully. Until now. I think it worked. I probably need to rewrite it some but it’s not bad, actually.

Hope you enjoy!

Photo and poem copyright 2024 Michelle Garren-Flye
Nature, time and patience are the three great healers

Going On
By Michelle Garren-Flye

How long must this go on—
every moment evokes
agony of loss and heartbreak;
remind me again that
time is our greatest healer

and nature will help fade the
clarity that loses its draw when
harking back to previous
eras only brings pain.

Help will come, but be patient,
endure each day knowing
authentic healing happens with
living.
Seasons pass, life does go on.

Day 12: Happy National Poetry Month

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Good morning! It’s 10:15 a.m. and I’ve just gotten settled at my desk with a cup of coffee and no idea what kind of poem to present you with. So I’ve decided to try the live poetry writing again. I kind of enjoyed that. Much more than I enjoy my live poetry readings, lol.

So I’m off to find another poetry prompt.

10:23. I found one. It’s not going to be an easy one to write. You can find it here. The prompt is: Write about neglect.

10:30. Sorry. Got distracted by my cat. I’m back.

Neglect (working title)

By Michelle Garren-Flye

How long since I looked at you?

You’re withered, turned brown,

no more blooms of blue,

lonely face droops down.

Mama shifts in her chair,

I know she’s in constant pain—

but the nurses did her hair.

(10:44. I have customers so going to have to take a break.)

(10:51. Where was I? Oh yeah.)

Mama shifts in her chair,

I know she’s in constant pain—

but the nurses did her hair.

And I’ve been away too long.

Walk away for a while,

forget to answer the phone

or water the plant

or leave someone alone.

(10:55. More customers. Might be interrupted again…)

Mama clings to my ginger hug,

her body so delicate, my own

health felt like a rude insult.

This old hospital is killing me.

(11:20. I was right. I was interrupted. Multiple times.)

When the mourning’s over, though,

drop the dead into the trash bin

even as tears track down, slow

when you remember the body so thin.

(11:32. First draft finished. Going to see if I can do a rewrite now.

(11:56. I finished it. And ouch. Read if you want.)

Neglect

By Michelle Garren-Flye

How long since I looked at you?

You’re withered, turned brown,

no more blooms of blue,

lonely face drops down.

Mama shifts in her chair,

I know she’s in constant pain—

but the nurse did her hair…

and I’ve been away too long.

Walk away, pretend it’s only a while,

forget to answer the phone

or water the plant

and leave someone alone too long.

Mama clings to my ginger hug,

her body so delicate, my own

health feels like a snub.

“This old hospital is killing me.”

When the mourning is over, though,

drop the dead into the trash bin,

even as tears track down slow

when you remember the body so thin.

Photo and poem copyright 2023 Michelle Garren-Flye

Poem for the spring equinox: Stay

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The spring equinox actually slipped past me yesterday. I spent a lot of time outside, though, so I guess I celebrated by soaking up some of that spring sunshine.

I’ve felt spring coming for sometime for me. I’m thawing in many different ways. In the process, I wrote a poem that’s sort of a love poem, though it’s written to multiple different people. So not the steamy kind of love poetry. (Sorry, but maybe I’ll write some of that at some point, too.)

Anyway, I wanted to share it here. It’ll probably become part of my next book of illustrated poetry.

Poem and illustration copyright 2022 by Michelle Garren-Flye

I’m writing FICTION again

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Grief does weird things to your psyche, but if you’re a writer, it can destroy creativity. That’s because writing fiction is just dreaming. And dreaming, at least about good stuff, is hard when you’re grieving.

Due to recent upheaval in my personal life, I haven’t written fiction in several months. I was grieving and I couldn’t concentrate on anything but that grief. Dreams seemed like a thing of the distant past. Life sucked and it seemed like it always would.

But grief passes. Or lightens, at least. For me, that happened recently. It followed close on the heels of both acceptance and the conscious decision to let go. It didn’t happen instantly. In fact, I hit rock bottom before I was able to let go of the great rock of grief that was dragging me down.

And this week, I started dreaming again. My future is still foggy and uncertain, but steps are being made and they’re all going up. Fortunately, I’m strong and I know I’ll get to the top. I’ll make it there. Eventually. Even if I sometimes have to pause on the way or even take a step back.

In the meantime, dreaming and writing are a definite step forward for me.

Self-affirming self portrait. By Michelle Garren Flye Copyright 2021.