Grief: A Poem by G.L. Morrison

G.L. Morrison, the "list mother" and a long-time member of the "Lesbian Writers" listserv, now over at Yahoo! groups, has written a gorgeous poem for Tee Corinne. All of us at Woman-Stirred were taken with it and requested the honor of publishing it here.

We continue to remember and honor Tee Corinne and her many contributions and appreciate these words from G.L. Morrison.


Grief: A Poem


there will be other women
many who knew you better
many who knew you longer
some that were witness to that breath
the one that went out to find your lungs
had changed the lock, the breath that went out
and could not get back in again
perhaps some spark of spirit went
out with that breath to seek a new address
there will be other women to tell that story
there will be other women to talk about the circle of life
about spirit and hope and the natural order of things
and the old ways and release from pain and reunion,
loves reunited and death and birth and the goddess
but I will not be that woman
there is only one goddess for me today, Tee,
and my soul rages blasphemy
damn the stars
could the night be so dark
it had to steal your light for the heavens?
damn them
selfish, selfish
my heart paints each star black

memorail I wrote when I meant to say memorial
and I thought of Plath writing of the manmoth
(from a typo or typ-eye for mammoth)
and I thought of what you would say
of malaprops and solipsism

memorail- its tracks are the yellow line
on the highway, dashed or broken lines,
the ellipse between my house and yours
the stretch of road and circumstance
that made a 3 hour trip take how many years
memorail
the memory train takes me to you
I did not want to come here
the child in me believes
that attending your funeral causes your death
I cannot explain to her this is not so
this is the fault of the way we live
and love over time and distance

I do not need to see you every day or
every year to know how real your love for me was
and this I know is the crucible of my tears
your leaving does not stop my love for you
what could--not time or miles--
what hope could death have to still my heart
my unstoppable love,
my admiration, my respect for you
but selfish, selfish
it stole yours from me

O Teeberry, my friend,
who was sometimes the mother
we neither had and both longed for,
and always the Galatea who breathed life
into canvas, film and print
will breathe no more art, no poetry,
no stories to me
O Galatea, breathe... breathe again
you who made so many women immortal
oh my goddess, my friend
my inspiration, my yantra
how dare you be mortal
selfish, selfish
I know every pot eventually is broken
back to the clay it was shaped from
but selfish, selfish
I thought you were unbreakable
I do not want to remember your rakku smile,
chiaroscuro wit, and watercolor optimism
I do not want to hang you in the gallery of my memory
selfish, selfish
how could you leave me behind
you always knew the way
you said draw a map between today and tomorrow
where you are today and where you want to be tomorrow
Where I want to be, Ms. Tee A. Corinne,
is you
selfish, selfish
you have left us no map
selfish, selfish
tho you made your life a map for strangers
what am I to make of all this death?


© G.L. Morrison

You can reach G.L. Morrison at glzenfish@yahoo.com