Photo by Eugene Chystiakov on Unsplash

(The month of September, I am reading “My mother’s body” by Marge Piercy every day. I am also coming here as many days as possible to share what happens for me when you visit a poem so often.)

The deep, endless caverns of grief and compassion rule today. This is where I have entered the poem, and where I find myself now, humming to myself and hearing my own voice reverberate off the walls.