“Seasons, or, Grief Underwater” | Laurel Reynolds | Poetry

Seasons, or, Grief Underwater

Laurel Reynolds

It was the year I learned death doesn’t end with fall. The fall cancer started in sharing your organs. The summer of not knowing. The spring of oblivion larger and deeper than the lake you took us to. The winter, the year before, a last Christmas and I do not remember what you gave me. I don’t think it matters. Fall and I don’t think I saw you.

The spring after your death felt normal. It’s summer now and we haven’t gone past your house for months.

But I still go to the lake. I don’t know why you were afraid of water and it’s two seasons too late to ask. It must have been too large or too deep. You must have been afraid of not knowing. Is it better now? Do you know how to swim?