Grief Pond

poem by Maddie Gorman

You watch the stone drop
into the middle
of a pond. There it is: the origin—

the node from which
all subsequent ripples birth.

At the same time
you feel the wind whistle
through a hole in your heart.
It aches like a sensitive tooth.

The seasons pile on. The wind
follows. Stray animals
nibble at your feet. Always,

you find yourself immersed
in the immediacy of detail: a red leaf,
a muddy puddle,
the half-eaten skeleton
of a river minnow—

time moves you forward
without ever touching you. You wonder

if there’s something you’ve forgotten