I am Broken
My heart is broken.
My life is broken.
I look out on a world askew,
forever changed.
Nothing looks right.
I am in an alien land of loss,
lost myself. Who could imagine
this pain?
The world is colder
since my last great loss.
Nothing is in person.
Groups wait three months
before connecting grieving
partners, soul mates, companions.
Therapists go by the clock,
bill for every minute.
The chaplain who ran
open ended groups for
years has retired.
I think back on all the poignant
stories of the bereaved,
and this comforts me.
I fall asleep in pain,
awake terrified in the night,
my solar plexus tight
with fear.
The realization hits me
over and over and over:
this is real, this is true this is final.
About the Author: Elsa Lichman, from Massachusetts, is a contributor to the journal as well a a columnist for the Waltham News Tribune and the Natural Living Journal. She is a retired social worker who has turned to the arts in retirement and during the covid era: writing, singing, and drawing, as well as utilizing meditation, to gain perspective and heal.
