Grief Lives Outside of Time

I am really proud of this poem, but I’m sort of afraid to have other people read it. It has very private meaning for me, in both literal and metaphoric ways — but I also think it’s relatable to others. Which I guess is kind of the definition of good poetry. Anyway, I’m being brave and posting it. What good is a poem if nobody reads it?

Grief Lives Outside of Time

Katy Scott
2025

Grief lives outside of time
It visits in advance
You don’t even know you have let it in
Until it’s already there.

Tomorrow will hand us what it hands us
So I need to know your eyes are on these words.

You loved me intensely at my best — and I was the best.
When dry leaves whipped furiously along the charcoal-dark street
Announcing the storm
Or the red river raged through the floodgates
You looked intently into my eyes 
And I did not need a key to get in.

You have known my worst days.
Angrily dismissive
Too tethered to run
Afraid of getting it wrong
Sorrow leaking out of a weathered rowboat.

Seulette suis, et seulette ne veux pas être.
Complicated things can solve themselves 
In the flow of time
I am the abandoned muse
Grieving the paths not taken.