I’m working on a book of poetry I didn’t know I had in me. But I’m happy to celebrate and embrace these forms that are emerging.
Going through things. Learning new things. Creating new circles of community and connection. The shape and adventure of verse offer the perfect container for grief and joy, journey and stillness, building and releasing.
This is a poem from yesterday, a reminder to myself to not rush through grief, to listen, to stay with it, in the discomfort, in the process, in the journey to releasing. Culturally, we try to move on quickly, to reach for the beat that’s rising up without processing the notes that brought us down. But following that inward, downward journey is often key to the alchemy of loss, grief, sadness, and regret.
This is my poem.
My Window
They say:
a door closes, a window opens.
But what if?
What if it’s not the right season
and the open window floods my sanctuary
with winter’s weary bleak
or invites summer’s unhappy regret?
What if the open window
welcomes the flies, gnats, and mosquitoes
of agitation and unease?
What if an open window
lets out all that I’ve been holding dear
before my mind has time?
Before what’s lost is clear?
What if I’m not ready?
Spare me your trite spins
to rush me through loss,
to walk me wide around your discomfort.
That was my door, this is my window.
Don’t touch!
Let me sit with this hard stop.
Let me study this change
Before inviting the winds to
air out my heart.
They say:
a door closes, a window opens.
But, not every heart is ready for the breeze.
©Pennie Nichols. All Rights Reserved. 2025
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