“On vis och,” he told himself. Dawn to dusk. A phrase that meant two things in his native tongue. A fresh start. A good end. V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

The darkness can be terrifying
after a beloved dies.
But left unprotected, the white-hot brightness of the sun
will burn your eyes.

Daytime means exposure, your loss on full display.
The well-meaning stare, then avert their eyes,
their whispered wonderings wafting in the breeze.
“Poor thing. Where does she get the strength to clamber out of bed?”

No place to shelter, no where but home feels safe.
The market is no haven with reminders on every aisle.
Pop tarts and pepperoni pizza. Mangoes and Milanos.
His favorites lay like landmines throughout the store.

I bury myself at home, marking time until the evening,
the siren call of Netflix the only distraction from my grief.
We watch until the wee hours, but still I cannot sleep.
I lay awake until the coyotes howl their pack back to the den.

But as time passes, I learn to conjure up my sight,
to see the moon-lit mossy carpet on the granite rock below and
the ghostly outline of the pine tree tower above our head.
to hear the wind blow past the house as I watch the shadows dance upon the wall.

I’ve come to love this liminal time, as I await the day’s return.
I trust the night to hold my pain and meet me where I am.
To find beauty in the space between my tears and know
that when the dawn comes, I can rise and begin again.