What is loss
(she asked me)
What is loss, she asked me,
on an evening when I'd thought
I could want no more.
Her warmth was an electric blanket
as she lay on me, her hair a roil-less sea
keeping my face afloat. The curtains
were half drawn, the evening
like a sliver, a pause.
A note sprang out,
half-caught, half lost,
a voice, skimmed off the skies.
She held on, fused:
lovers:
survivors and a raft.
The moment ceased its churning,
charging, as night descended -
and we talked, lay entangled
in each other's arms, aware,
of the unanswerability of the question,
the tragedy of the answer.
Loss is embedded into our lives. Its advent has both unpredictability and inevitability written into it. It never comes as a stranger - but never ceases to break us. As humans, we are too embroiled in the now, too sure that the inertia of happiness will never cease its trajectory, to even mentally (leave aside emotionally) prepare for it.
The definition of loss, for each one of us, lies in whether what we lose is in our care, is our concern. Whether it lights us up. In concrete (often amorphous) ways, whether it gives meaning to the breath we take. Every which way, loss has a wake of tragedy. It could be a pinprick in the routine or a chasm in our soul. However robust our defence systems, however practical our relationship with reality, loss which means something to us, leaves us desolate.
It's this fear which leaves us unprepared.
Conversations on death - the ultimate loss - are avoided, because we think it's bad omen. There's no one to blame - we are humans, we have our quiddities, weaknesses, blind spots.
But the loss which leaves as deep a cut is when someone we love decides to move on. The sadness fractures us because the occurrence is not inevitable, and is often unexpected.
To lose someone who brings gold to our lives, and amber to our hearts, is to lose treasure.
We are then no longer the lees of loss, but its extension.
Hear the poem -
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems on loss and desolation -
The Things We Become When We Leave
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