Have a Very Radical-Acceptance Christmas

A Poem I Wrote Because I'm Sad

Dear Dad,

It’s Christmas today.

You passed away 

Less than two months ago. 

It still feels fresh.

You didn’t get to go well, and that feels wrong.

You didn’t get a funeral, and that feels wrong.

You left a pile of pottery pieces scattered around the country,

And there is no glue and gold dust for kintsugi.

All there is 

Is time.

Time to let the sharpness of our new edges wear dull.

Time to let the wind and water of life

Erode us into something others can brush near.

Time to become acceptable again.