Ars Poetica
“Don’t write about writing,” I groan.
Instead, I write about not writing.
I don’t write about losing my mom—
I refuse to become that person.
Grief climbs in slowly, all at once.
A chaotic mind. Flashes back and forth.
Summertime fireworks. Ashes on the shelf.
Naked toes walking along the sandy shore.
Bloodshot eyes looking. Seeing nothing.
“Where do I go from here,” I cry.
Feeling the answer before I ask.
Write myself out. Regain some footing.
Step beyond the clouds – into the sun.
Live not just for me. Live for us both.
Terra Orndorff 