Overwhelmed by sadness, then over it with the new day . . . but still . . .


The Next Left Turn

Sometimes I’m rocked by sadness
But it passes,
undefined, still creeping
around the edges
If it were a street,
I’d turn and walk another

Times that find me then,
move like so much smoke
and I need to grab a handful,
make it mine, name and hold it
Smoke is hard to grasp
Sometimes I am too

It’s gone by morning
and I almost grieve the loss
The part of me that hurts,
needing to be held a bit
Wants the time to feel the pain,
reporting it as mine

Sadness needs that deference
and I am always unprepared
Eager for the thing to go away
and when it’s gone I’m lost,
to wander peaceful boulevards
Until the next left turn at sadness

Poetry Collection: The Smell of Tweed and Tobacco
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman’s
poetry collection

THE SMELL OF TWEED
AND TOBACCO

available here in print
or as an e-Book
in your favorite formats.