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During the 10 week ModPo Course I just finished, we studied Bob Perelman’s poem, Chronic Meanings. It is a constraint poem in that each line is a sentence cut short at the 5th word. It was written to and for Lee Hickman when Perelman learned he was dying of AIDS.

This week my favorite uncle/friend passed away unexpectedly. He was young and healthy. Had been watching his diet. Trying to live right. His death that much more challenging to deal with. So random…

These are a few random lines from the poem, Chronic Meanings:

Midnight the pain is almost.
The sorrow burned deeper than.
Not enough time to thoroughly.
Now put down your pencils.
Some things are reversible, some.
You don’t have that choice.

A poem cut short. Sentences cut short. A life cut short. Sometimes meaning is lost. Sometimes it remains, even without the words…

It resonated with me during the class. This week it truly strikes a chord.

How do you deal with loss? How do you grieve? What gives you solace?

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