Three years into grief | Britta Benson

Three years into grief I can sleep. I still

wonder how much boxed up stuff I will need

to remember you, me, lives, a childhood

spent in my cousin’s clothes and 70s wallpaper.

Orange, not my thing. I try to hold on to time,

letters, photographs, pretend I can pull you

right back by keeping shoes, that picture you drew

in your hospital art class. You asked

for Rembrandt’s ‘Night Watch’, but settled for cows.

I’ve become the curator of your museum.

What was yours, now treasured dead weight,

collecting dust. Three years into grief I sense you

in the light of the sun, solstice rain. You howl

through my soul like a storm with your stale breath.

Britta Benson is a circus skills instructing German, a writer, performer and linguist thriving in Scotland, her chosen habitat since the year 2000. She runs a creative writing group, The Procrastinators, and writes a daily blog, Britta’s Blog – Letters from Scotland as well as her poetry blog, Odds & Ends She also stares out of her window a lot and drinks far too much tea.

12 thoughts on “Three years into grief | Britta Benson

    1. Thanks for selecting my Sorta-Sonnet, Bartholomew. I enjoyed the challenge. And when it comes to 70s wallpaper, I guess, I’m traumatized for life! And that’s before I even think of the fashion…

      Liked by 1 person

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