permanent hiatus (cn: death, grief)

[alexseanchai]

There is a hopefulness in the phrase
'on hiatus'.

They're not here,
but nothing's wrong:
their absence is a hole
they will return to fill.
They've only stepped away.

They will again recommend
stories you might read tomorrow—
or not, because they told you
it has something that might hurt,

that might hurt wrong, or
that you should consider first,
know your risks,
be sure of aftercare.

There will be a tomorrow
for you to thank them.

Their silence isn't worrying.
They've only stepped away.
They haven't fallen to the floor
or slumped sideways on a chair,
and no knocking neighbor will find
the door or phone just past their hand.

They will be back to write
another essay or fifteen
to teach
to share an insight
to help our own voices soar.
They'll ask to hear that chorus
and those solos.
They'll hang their sign:
your audience should not need thicker skin
when you can write a gentler world:
reader for hire.

When there's words enough and coin,
you'll hire them.
The coin won't be enough.
No coin could be enough.

They won't be sweet—
mail-order insulin delays
(if that is what it was)
could not make them sweet—
but who needs sweet?
They will be kind.

They will be kind
as a mountain will tower, stone:
no one endures such pressure
and stays plain.

But even mountains sometimes crumble,
and death won't halt for kindness,
and sometimes 'out to lunch'
means 'on Zoom they're sitting shiva'
means 'don't forget to eat'
means 'the world still needs repairs, go on without me'.

No one will change the sign to
'on permanent hiatus'.


(for TGStoneButch)