Wings of Grief

September 30, 2025

It is a strange place,

this narrow ledge between a vast tomorrow

and the wreckage of yesterday.

Five years of falling—

landslide, ruin, the legacy gone to earth,

my family scattered like stones in the tide,

my father’s last breath

still echoing in the hollow of my chest,

love turned poison,

safety undone.

I carry these losses like weathered bones,

yet here I stand—

trembling, unsteady,

a child again,

peering into the immensity of a life

I no longer recognize.

It is both terror and wonder,

to walk into a world

rebuilt from a mountain of ashes,

to feel my own fierce courage

press against fear’s sharp teeth.

Perhaps this is what it means

to live after loss—

to be at once orphan and heir,

mourner and newborn,

learning to breathe in air

that tastes of both grave dirt

and boundless morning light.

The precipice challenges me with choice.

It gives me agency,

asking that I leap on wings of grief

and still call it flight.